Zombie Cake
by Snowyflakes
Summary: After finishing school, Zelda Nohansen decides to move and open a bakery in small town Kakariko, but the bakery begins to fail when big business moves into town. Could her goofy and careless, albeit only, employee help keep the bakery afloat? Modern AU.
1. Disasters and Dreams

Zombie Cake

The Daily Frustrations of a Baker

1.0

Disasters and Dreams

When you finally get out of that godsforsaken place everyone calls high school (it's really just a pointless drawn out drama show), diploma in hand, you're just happy to be out. Happy to be out in the world and ready to face it, except for that one question. The big question. That one question everyone has to ask when you get that diploma in your hand. What are you going to do now?

What's your story?

What's _my_ story? I went to high school. In it, I was the classic smart kid. I got good grades, did everything I was supposed to, applied to colleges, got accepted and graduated with honors. Run of the mill, right? It seemed like I was headed down a long and slippery slope to the bottom of the corporate ladder after I started university. I applied for art school and got in as a painting major, but changed my mind after the first year for something more "practical", as my father put it. I changed my major and left the art school for the school of business.

Business. How bland, am I right? I can at least say I didn't go for a business management degree. I really don't know what in the world that is for. Instead, I enrolled at my university as an accounting major with a minor in finance, and from there, I continued to do well in my studies and made the dean's list every semester.

I was breaking the mold!

I graduated, of course with honors again, got my degree in accounting and a few job offers in the hub of Castle Town where I went to university. A job in the big city and a nice cubicle awaited me; my father couldn't have been prouder.

So at twenty-two I sat in my cubicle, crunching numbers and making the heads of the Dragmire Corporation rich. Oh, that project you invested in five years ago? It's finally made you big shots money. Like a couple hundred thousand rupees. You know, small stuff. Oh, you want to pay the little investors some dividends? Let's first split a good two million between the big dogs before giving the common stockholders the bone of it. Oh, you have a lawsuit on your hands? Are you going to win it? Really? Oh, so I don't have to include that in your financial statements or credit your liabilities for that measly one million on the line.

After eleven months on the job, I came to a realization. I was selling my soul to Ganondorf Dragmire. The paychecks were nice, and I may have just been the wee underling, a henchman in the scheme of it all, but I was still contributing to Dragmire's company. I couldn't stand it. I hated my very grey desk. I hated my black, black chair. I hated my uncooperative computer, and even the more so uncooperative copier. I hated my cubicle and its very bland and very grey walls. I hated the stupid little plant I put on the corner of my desk in attempt to make it a little more "homey". Even the plant seemed to hate it, because after a while, it was sort of giving up on life. What I hated most of all was my boss, coffee mug in hand, "Heeey, you going to have those reports done by this afternoon?"

Fuck no, dipshit, I quit. Go shit up a rope.

And so I quit.

As soon as I quit, I went home, popped open a beer, kicked back my feet, flipped to the Food Network and thought about it. How in the hell was I going to pay for my apartment if I didn't have a job? Know something? Didn't matter, the lease was almost up, I had some savings and to be truthful, I hated living in Castle Town. It was time for something new. I needed a change. I sipped my beer thoughtfully as I watched how those really awesome tasting cupcakes with the cream filling were mass produced. I needed an adventure, I had decided, watching batches and batches of cupcakes flit before my eyes on the screen.

And then I got this idea.

So I begged my father, my grandparents, my friends, the banks, the credit unions – anybody who would give me five minutes to pitch them – for monetary loans. My father was, surprisingly, pleased that I was taking it upon myself to start my own business and was more than happy to give me a loan. My father actually has a lot of money to his name, so he offered it as a gift, but being stubborn, I only took it until he allowed me to pay him back. He was happy that I was going out in the world and taking a risk, but he disapproved of what my business actually entailed.

"Do you even know how to bake?" my father asked, scratching his head.

I groaned. "Dad, who has made you your birthday cakes for like the past ten years?"

"I thought you went out and bought those," he says thoughtfully, his eyes rolling up as he tried to think back.

"No, Dad," I said. "I made those."

He shrugged and wrote me the check, wishing me luck.

Within the next six months, I decided to pack up and move out to Kakariko Village. There, I found a little house to rent for cheap and a building big enough to hold a bakery. That's right, I left my job as an accountant for the big bad Dragmire Corporation to become a baker in a small town. I was excited. I got all the equipment together, got all my suppliers in order, got all my product together, got myself an employee hired and opened up for business.

It's been a little over a year now, and at twenty-three, I'm still paying off my debts, but so far, I don't regret it. The sky seems bluer, the grass greener, the air is even sweeter in scent. I breathe easy now. I go to bed, I go to sleep. I don't lay there and think, "Oh man, I hope I didn't fuck up those statements." I wake up and head to the bakery before the sun pokes up and get to work – usually well rested, might I add.

The bakery opens up at eight in the morning. My employee, Ingo, usually arrives somewhere around that time. He's hardly ever early, or rather even on time, but I don't really mind. I feel so less uptight about everything these days that I just don't want to ruin that, so I let it go. Not to mention, no one really seems interested as of late to work in the bakery. What really irks me about Ingo, however, is his attitude about work. He'll do it, but he's always got some comment about it. He's essentially a real whiner.

Taking a cake order doesn't have to be complicated. Ingo made one last about forty-five minutes, and jokingly, I decided to poke at him, saying, "Oh, you sure have the patience of a saint." Mistake. He spent the rest of the day going on and on about this order and how it took forty-five minutes, when all the woman really wanted was a yellow cake, white buttercream icing with yellow roses with the tips red. How hard is that? But he is just so patient to have been able handle her for an hour. You should have seen how detailed he got this down – four scraps of paper! And it only took over an hour to do.

Didn't we start at about forty-five minutes there?

"Ingo, why wasn't this done?" I'd ask.

"Oh, you know I would have had that done sooner if these labels didn't take so long to print out."

"Then why don't you multitask and do something else while they're printing out?"

Or, "Ingo, stop talking to me. I need you to slice and bag that bread."

"Oh okay, I'll get on it. It's just that martial arts taught me to look at people when I talk to them."

"You don't know any type of martial arts, Ingo."

You'd better believe I'd call his ass out every time. I'm not paying him to stand around all day, we got shit to do. I'd fire him, but then I'd be stuck running the place all by myself, and I'm already here from four in the morning to at least six in the evening. So hop to it! There are customers waiting, bread to be kneaded, proofed, baked and bagged, cakes to be made and decorated and pastries to be put out so they can sit there and look pretty. Let's get this train moving! I got people to pay back and people to disprove that I could keep a bakery going.

What is even stranger is the people in this town, and I am not just talking about the tourists. (I do have to say, though, that they are an entirely a different breed.) We get all sorts of people in here from the very boring, to the very busy, to the incredibly weird.

There's a woman who comes from the Terimanian countryside. She lived in a very, very small village - like Kakariko looks like Castle Town in comparison. There, they had one baker and whenever he fought with his wife, he wouldn't bake the next day. She tells us stories like these all the time. One time the baker's wife ran off with another man. "We didn't have bread for three weeks!" she laughed.

I wished I could refuse to work when I fought with my wife. If I had one. If that were even legal. I digress.

There's another guy that comes in and no loaf of bread is ever soft enough. He's told me so far that he's been a pilot, a businessman, a medic and blah blah blah. So long as you put on new gloves, get the bread straight from the rack and let it touch nothing but the plastic bag it's going into, he's happy. But he's a total creeper and a real weirdo for sure.

Then there's this other lady. She's a little on the slow side, I suppose. I'm not sure what exactly is wrong with her, but her grandmother's birthday was over a month ago and she's _still_ ordering her birthday cakes. I can't keep doing this. Every time she comes in, she likes to chat and chat and chat about this guy that's her boyfriend or her fiancé or her jerk boyfriend or whatever and he was supposed to pick up the cake but that didn't happen but they might break up because of that fight they had the other night- and what am I going on about?

I love getting people that come in here, looking at all my pastries and my cakes when none of that is actually what they want. Brightly, I'll ask, "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, can I get uh… a pound of uh…" Pound? Pound? What do I sell by the pound again? "Yeah, honey smoked turkey?"

"This is a bakery."

"Yeah."

"You need to go to the deli," I'll say, "two blocks over."

"Oh. Okay." Pause. "Thanks."

Like I said, ALL sorts of weirdos. But I like it. I love my job. Don't get me wrong. I love the smell of fresh bread in the morning and getting to make the cakes and pastries in the afternoons, and the people here definitely have their own certain flavor. Why did I ever think that accepting that job offer for Dragmire Corporation was ever a good idea? Why did I ever think that living in the big, big city – the capital of Hyrule, no less – was a fantastical idea? I like this town. It's not exactly small, but it's not that big either. And it's definitely not suburbia. At all. Shit, the lady next door to me, Anju, keeps a coop of cucco. Every now and then they get out and like to strut themselves around my yard and poop in front of my car. I still like them though. They're not so bad until they're angered.

In Kakariko, I feel like I've found some sort of content in my life that I couldn't find back in Castle Town. Maybe this was my calling all along, who knows? Just as long as I can keep paying off my debts in a timely fashion, I can be out of the red in a few years. I don't make a lot, but I make enough, and that's just fine. I have a house – well I rent a house, but I can call it home, I have a car that works, I run a business and I like it.

So today as I pull my last rack of bread out of the oven, the phone rings and rings and rings. Ugh. It just turned eight. No one's really alive in this town at eight, to be honest. Not much opens up until nine or ten. Until then, everybody is zombified. It's still so early; I don't even care if that's not a real word, despite eight am being close to my equivalent of midday. Hey, I'm kind of grouchy in the mornings, but I still get up to come here.

I close the oven, shut off the timer and throw my oven mitts on a counter. I saunter over to the phone and pick up the receiver. I knead a little sand out of my eye with my knuckle as I answer, grabbing a pen and some paper just in case it's an order.

A scruffy voice sounds from the other end. "Hello? Zelda?" Ingo. Oh dear Din, what is it today?

"Yes, it's me. What's up?" I ask him, chewing on a stray blond bang. I mean, who else would it be? Nobody else works here!

"Yeah, uh…" he hesitates, "I can't come in today."

I roll my eyes. What excuse could he possibly come up with today? "Is there a valid reason?" I ask him flatly, ready for the bullshit to fly.

"Yeah, I have a temp of a hundred and fifty degrees."

I stop, and unconsciously pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it in disbelief. I shake my head a little and put the receiver back to my ear. "What?" I say shortly.

"Yeah, I have a really high fever."

"Of a hundred and fifty degrees?" I repeat in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Uh…" YEAH UHHH.

I've had enough, so I shout into the phone, "That's the biggest pile of cow manure you've tried to feed me! Who the fuck has a hundred and fifty degree fever?" I pause, thinking quickly. "And don't tell me that that's in Celsius not Fahrenheit, because that's even worse! Don't even tell me you meant to say a hundred and fifteen, because at either temperature, you're cooking, brain dead and just plain dead." The pen flies out of my hand and disappears into the depths of the bakery. "Know what?" I scream. "Just don't come in! I don't care. Not coming in today? Don't come in tomorrow. Or the next day, or the next."

Without even giving Ingo a chance to respond, I throw the phone back on the hook.

I cross my arms, fuming. The fuck was I going to do? It really sucks running the bakery all by myself all fucking day. No lunch break today. Nope! Fuck.

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. I just fired my only employee. And not in a very graceful or calm manner, but like a regular old jackass. Fuck!

I chew my lip.

It'd be a lot less stressful if there'd been people asking me for a job, but in the past months, I haven't heard one peep from somebody about getting a job here. Where in the hell am I going to find somebody?

_Shit_.

I sigh.

I can't do anything about it right now. It's eight o'clock, and I need to open the door. I got bread to sell. Grumbling to myself, I pull my keys out of my apron and unlock the front door and move to switch the sign from "CLOSED" to "OPEN". But I stop as soon as the sign is in my hand. I grimace and think better of it.

Smirking to myself, I throw my hands up and say, "Fuck it! I'm opening late!" My proclamation declared, I open the front door to the dawn of a new day and slam the door shut behind me. I fish for my keys again and lock the door. People want bread? Hah! They can wait today.

Oh goddess, I sound terrible. But I don't really care at the moment.

I strut myself down the street with this new sense of confidence and snobbish entitlement and make my way to the convenience store. A breeze kicks up as I walk, and the sweet scent of late summer drifts past my nose. I push open the door to the convenience store, and little bells jingle to signal my entry. I walk straight up to the counter and tell the clerk, maybe a little aggressively, "Give me a pack of cowboy killers." I then add, "Please."

He shrugs and turns around to get me the pack of cigarettes.

"Why so foul?" a voice behind me asks.

I don't turn around. "I just fired my only employee. Not much of a loss, but…" I shrug. "I'm still stuck running the shop for another ten hours by myself."

The man behind me doesn't respond, so I think our conversation is done.

I grab a lighter and smack it down on the counter. The clerk hands me the cigarettes and I give him the money that I owe. I grab my purchases and fling myself out from the convenience store and into the open air, ripping at the plastic wrapping the box. The box free, I quickly tap it on my palm and pull out a cigarette before stashing the rest in my pants pocket. Slowly, I begin to walk back to the bakery, attempting to light the cigarette, but the lighter won't catch.

I stop. Cupping my hand around the tip of the cigarette and lighter, I try once more to light it. The flame clicks to life and I suck on the filter, wisps of smoke escaping my mouth as the flame catches on the end of the cigarette. I sigh to myself, bringing down my hands, smoke billowing up from me. I flick the cigarette in my hand, ash flying off of it.

"Hey, did you need help?"

I turn around. "Excuse me?" I say, brow furrowing as a guy with the shaggiest blond hair I've ever seen jogs up to me.

"With your shop, I mean." It's the man that was behind me in line at the convenience store.

"Oh," I say. And that's just it. "Oh." I can't think of anything else to say but, "Oh"? I'm retarded. I shake my head.

He takes this as an answer. "Are you sure?" he asks, scratching at the back of his neck.

"What?" I say stupidly. Oh jeez, I'm not even really following my own damn conversation. It's his turn for his brow to furrow, and an "Uh" escapes his lips. He slumps a little and looks away as I catch on. "Why, you want to help out at my shop?" I ask him.

"If you don't mind!" he says, looking back at me with relief washing over his face. "I just paid off my debt to the Lumpy Pumpkin, so right now I'm kind of out of a job," he admits to me.

"Lumpy Pumpkin?"

He explains, "It's a rest stop for travelers between here and Ordon."

"Oh," I say softly. I look around the street awkwardly. "Uh, so what was the debt?" I ask him as I turn around and continue my walk back to work.

"I smashed their custom chandelier," he says jogging to catch up with me before falling in step.

"You smashed a chandelier?" I ask aloud. "I don't know if I want you near my ovens. I haven't finished paying for them yet."

His interest piques a little. "Ovens?"

I glance over at him. "I run a bakery."

"What do you bake?" he asks, genuinely interested, blue eyes shining.

"Everything. I'm a jack of all trades right now," I tell him. "But I really like making cakes. I'd like to make that the one thing I do one day, but for now…" I trail and shrug. "The town needs bread, and I got to make some money." I sniff a little and take another drag on my cigarette, calming down from the earlier events. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Oh!" he says, eyebrows rising. I roll my eyes. What a space case, but I suppose he's better than nothing. He smiles at me and tells me, "I'm Link."

"Link…?"

"Mason. Link Mason," he says cheerfully. I suppose he's just happy to have some work to do. The goddesses know I need someone to help me out. I hope you know what you're sending me up there! "What's yours?" he asks.

"Zelda Nohansen," I yawn. I flick the cigarette again and take a drag.

When the bakery comes in sight, Link asks, "Are you from around here?" I dig around in my apron pocket for my keys. "This it?"

"Yeah," I mumble. I roll the cigarette out and then stamp on the burning ashes before unlocking the door. Then I answer his original question, "And no, not from here. I moved here from Castle Town about a year ago." I open the door and the familiar jingle of my shop's own bells sound as I step in. Link follows me in, looking around the place. I flip the sign to "OPEN".

"You seem tired," he comments. "What time do you come in usually?"

"I'm here at four," I say, thinking nothing of it and pushing past him as I head into the back area to get him Ingo's old apron.

Link, however, is completely shocked. "Four? In the morning?" he exclaims coming to a sudden stop.

"In the morning," I call back. I hear him shuffle after me, and when I come out of the office area, he's inspecting the bread racks. "Here," I say, handing him the apron. "Put it on." I scrunch my face and give him a good look over.

"What?" Link frowns at me as he puts the apron, noticing my inspection of him.

"Wear a hat tomorrow," I tell him as he ties the ends of the apron together in the front. Gosh, he's pretty lanky under those clothes.

"A hat?"

"Yes, a hat. A thing that goes on top of that head of yours," I say, waving my hand around the crown of my own head. "Your hair is so scraggly, and I don't need it falling on my stuff. Keep it contained."

He chuckles softly and nods, his crystalline eyes sparkling. Excitedly, he says, "Okay!"

"Also, with this floor, you're going to need some slip resistant shoes," I inform him. "They'll have these little 'x' patterns on the soles." I pull up a couple of stools by the cash register and sit down on one. "Take a seat," I tell him, patting the other stool.

"You don't want to get to work on the bread?"

"Eh, some of it still needs to cool," I say uninterested. "Besides, if you're working here, we got to get some stuff out of the way, right?" I smile cheekily at him, and he laughs.

"Sure." He slides himself up on the stool. "Is it always slow in the mornings?"

"Yeah," I say. "Except around the holidays. I never thought this place would get so slammed last year."

"So what do you do?"

"Bag bread," I say simply. "There's a lot of task work to do in the mornings, but I'm not going to lie. I'm feeling a bit lazy this morning after that phone call."

"Phone call?" Link inquires. "You fired the other guy over the phone?" At least he can catch on quick. I guess?

"He called me saying he had a hundred and fifty degree temperature," I inform him flatly. Then I feel the corners of my mouth tug, and I can't hold it back. I begin to giggle, and Link starts to laugh with me. "Isn't that the stupidest thing you ever heard?"

Once our laughter subsides, Link looks over at me and says, "So a hat and slip resistant shoes?"

"Yup," I say. "You can wear what you like." After a pause, I add, "Well, within reason."

"I'm a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy."

"Don't wear anything you're too fond of," I say. "Whatever you don't get on your apron is on your clothes, and some of the chemicals here have bleach in it."

Link shrugs. "They're just clothes. I'm not too attached to a plain green shirt."

I glance down at the register. Pointing at it, I tell him, "This is a manual. You're going to have to count back change yourself." I stare him down for a moment, and he actually straightens a little under my level glare. "Don't fuck it up."

He pauses before breaking out a smile for me. Link laughs and says, "I can do that. The Lumpy Pumpkin wasn't quite up to date either."

I snicker. "I do have a credit card machine, so I'm not totally in the dark ages."

"Like an actual machine?"

"Yeah, just punch in the amount and swipe."

Link lets out a sigh. "Oh thank Farore. I had to fill out slips back at the Pumpkin and do the manual swipe. I can't tell you how many times I had people tell me, 'Oh, wow. I haven't seen one of those in twenty years!'" He snorts a little at this before saying, "I'd be a very rich man if I got a rupee for every time I heard that one."

We share a chuckle at this before Link asks, "Do you make everything here?"

"Basically," I say. "I usually finish baking around this time with exception of what goes in that case over there," I tell him pointing at the bread bar. "The boules and batards that sell most go in there. Below it goes the loaves and other kinds of bread I bake in the mornings; I do two a day usually unless they don't sell."

"When do you make the dough?"

"Afternoons when there aren't any cake or pastry orders or extras for the cases that need to be filled," I say, shrugging. "What we'll do is later today is make some dough. We'll have to separate the dough first into the individual loaves or rolls and then freeze them." I yawn again, thinking over the day's work ahead of us. "We could probably par-bake some of the bread bar stuff too."

"Par-bake?" Link questions, brow furrowing.

"It's when the dough gets proofed and then baked about halfway. We can freeze it after that and finish baking it when it comes time to use it."

I glance over at Link, and in the corner of my eye, I see his own slide upwards as he takes in what I've said. Then he nods, smirking a little. What a goof.

"So that's how you keep on top of everything," Link says. "I was wondering how you keep a bakery running with just two people."

I shrug. "It's a lot of work," I admit aloud.

Link smiles sheepishly at my statement and laughs. I twitch an eyebrow. "You're here how long out of the day?" he asks me.

I scrunch my nose before replying, "Eh, like fourteen hours." Pause. "I essentially live here. I don't know why I bother to rent a house." I glance behind me. "I suppose I could set up a cot between the dishwasher and freezer."

Link laughs heartily at this. He says jokingly to me, spinning himself around on the stool, "Your boyfriend must be mad you never have time for him."

I snort. "You're right," I tell him before chuckling a little. "That's why he doesn't exist."

We're both still giggling with each other when the bells jingle. We both try to stifle our laughter as we greet the customer.

Now here's my chance to see if good ol' godsend Link is worth his weight in rupees.

* * *

><p>Heeey guys. Haha, been a while, huh? And of course, instead of working on finishing up the older stuff, I start something new. I've actually begun working into the third chapter of this and finishing up revising the second, but there are a couple of things I'd like some input in.<p>

First, I have no idea what to name the bakery, and it's eating at me that I have to continually refer to it as "the bakery" in the story. I tried thinking up some clever pun or something, but to no avail. So guys! Any ideas for a name?

Second, I'm not too sure about the title of the actual story. Yes, Zombie Cake is a legit cake made where I work. It's a rum flavored bunt cake with sliced almonds and cherries in it. It's interesting to say the least. I felt like I was settling for the title.

Anyhoo! I will post the second chapter sometime soon, but I'd still love to hear any thoughts you might have that may help improve the second chapter before I get too deep into the third.

;D


	2. The Routine and the Unexpected

Zombie Cake

2.0

The Routine and the Unexpected

Within the first week of having good ol' Link in the bakery, I learned a thing or two about him. He was a goofy kind of guy and good with the customers, but dear Nayru! Did you have to send me someone so careless? So far he's managed to completely lose the knob that turns the bread oven on and off (so in order to turn it on and off, I have to stick a pair of scissors into the plastic bit where the knob attached and turn it that way), somehow broke off a piece of a knob on the dishwasher (leaving it perpetually in the "long" cycle), forgot to set the timer and left a rack of bread in the oven while I was eating lunch (effectively turning my bread into giant pieces of charcoal), and that's just the beginning.

His first day, when we were closing up, I showed him where I keep all the chemical cleaners. "We use this blue stuff here, Glance, for windows only," I had told him, and he nodded, understanding. "This red stuff is Spitfire, you can use it on basically anything," I said before adding, "except the floors." I then pointed to four white jugs in a box and then even labeled it so he wouldn't forget, and I told him, "This is what you use on the floor, J-Works."

After reading the label, his brow furrowed, and he read aloud, "'Floor Degreaser'? The floors get greasy here?"

I shrugged and said, "Do you see any grease on my floor?"

"No."

"Good." I then pulled out another box containing white jugs and labeled it. "This," I told him, "is block cleaner. We'll use it once a week on Sundays or in some down time to clean those white counters. It has bleach in it, so don't wear anything you care about on Sundays especially." I smiled cheekily at him, saying, "I ruined a good pair of black pants this way once."

That night while I was taking care of the dishes, I realized, even though I labeled it for him, Link had mopped the floors using Spitfire. I huffed at him, "Do it again, and do it right." He grumbled about it, but did as I said. He since hasn't made the same mistake, although that may be due to the fact he made sure to ask me for the next few days straight which cleaner he was supposed to use on the floor.

I've also learned that the boy can barely get up before noon as if he were still a lazy teenager instead of a grown adult. I thought at first on his second day on the job that he decided not to work here and to leave me hanging dry. Just when I was about to give up on him, he burst into the bakery haphazardly, hair strewn everywhere, eyes wide and a green beanie in his hand. He apologized profusely for his extreme lateness, and seeing as I didn't have any other fish biting to work for me, I gave him another chance and threw his apron at his face. He may come in groggy and half dead every morning, but ever since he's been on time and has shown up every day. Something I can't say the same for Ingo.

But the more time that passes, I find that I can't help but feel a bit charmed at times by his childish nature.

The times when I offered to go pick up lunch for us both, he insisted I pick up the microwavable macaroni shaped like fairies and other forest creatures from some children's show.

"You're kidding me right?" I had asked him when he first told me the request.

"It tastes way better than regular noodles," he insisted, and I rolled my eyes and got him what he asked for.

I've found that I can't even leave him to dishes some days. Instead of cleaning the trays, platters and utensils, I'll find him playing with the soap bubbles. Catching him one day, I had said to him, "Building a bubble castle?"

He had frowned at me and replied, "It was supposed to be a bubble deku scrub."

I shook my head instead of answering back before squashing his creation into the sink. What a goofball.

Even the boy's hat is goofy. It keeps his hair in check, except for the small tuft of blond bangs that pokes out over his forehead, but the green beanie sticks out a little awkwardly from his head before slouching downwards. I think it suits Link though. It's almost like it was made for him.

If there's one thing for sure about Link that I've learned, he falls for all the gimmicks. I shake my head at him every time, but I laugh about it to myself. To be honest, it's almost endearing.

The Lonsbury brand of baking products offers a confetti type of cake mix. He knows all there is to it is to just add sprinkles to the batter, but he still insists that it's the best kind of cake out there. Like the very best on the whole damn planet.

"Alright, alright," I had said. "What if I start making confetti cakes and cupcakes?"

"Can we change the colors to match the season?"

I had laughed at this. "Sure," I said. "When All Hallows' Eve comes around, we can do chocolate and blue and orange sprinkles."

His face lit right up at that, and a goofy grin stretched wide on his face.

I essentially employed a big kid.

I suppose it's not all bad. Even though he's a complete idiot, he's very polite (especially with customers), and his good looks have started to bring in a gaggle of teenage girls since school started in the early fall. As annoying as they are, his little fan club always buys a few pastries, so I can't really complain much about them. They at least buy something, and they most certainly wouldn't have come in just because of me or Ingo. They've started to show up at least three times a week to come and gush at him. And Link… good ol' Link is completely oblivious to it all. I think that may be the very best part of it all; I get good laugh out of it.

Politeness and nice looks aside, his silly side has so far offered some good ideas. Whenever I try to make a new flavor or try to tweak a recipe, he makes a good taste tester. It's like having a giddy child around (the most honest of critics) when I give him something to sample. Giving him a sample is like giving a dog a treat almost. He's a good worker.

All in all, I think I'll keep the bugger around, so I spend a little bit of my day working on sorting through some payroll taxes for Link's next paycheck. Maybe I should spend a little extra money and have some other sap that majored in accounting do this. Hm. That's just a money bleeder. There's no return there. Huh. But then I'd-

"NO!"

I jump in my seat at the sudden outburst. Oh dear Goddesses, what has Link done now?

"I know you've had it before! Where is your manager?" a woman's voice insists as I come rushing out of the office to Link's aid up at the bread bar.

Link hears me coming, and the look on his face is pure relief that reinforcements are coming his way.

"Woah, woah, woah!" I say pushing Link back to face the irate woman. "What's the problem, ma'am?" I ask her.

The lady sputters out at me, "He's telling me that there is no such thing as naan bread here!"

I glance over at Link. His eyebrows raise, his mouth thins, and he shrugs. I sigh inwardly. Sure, Link has no idea what naan is, but he's correct in that we don't have it here.

"Ma'am," I say slowly, waiting for the shit storm to happen, "I know what you're talking about, but we don't make naan bread here."

"No!" she shouts. "No, no! I've bought it here before!"

"I'm sorry ma'am if you're mistaken," I say to her, trying to keep my cool, "but we've never made naan bread here."

She huffs at me. "Who are you? I want to see a manager!"

"I am the manager, ma'am," I snap right back. I notice poor Link has shrunk away from the confrontation. I look over at him out of the corner of my eye and see him mouth, "What is 'naan' anyway?"

"Who's higher up than you?" she demands. She continues to insist, "I know I've gotten it here before!"

"Ma'am," I say shortly, feeling my patience wearing thin, "I own this place, and I am the manager. There's nobody else higher than me, and since I opened this shop, I have never made naan bread."

"I want the corporate number!"

Okay, whaaat?

I glance back at Link, and all he does is shrug at me. Some help you are, you lazy goober.

"This is a private establishment, ma'am," I inform her. "I have no corporate number."

I continue to bicker it out with the woman as Link eventually slips into the retarder to hide from it all. I don't even know how I manage it, but I finally get the woman to leave – without her naan bread. I sigh and shake my head. That was something else.

Gently, I pull open the door to the retarder and poke my head in. Link's huddled in the corner between some bread racks. "Link," I say, "get the fuck out of the retarder."

"Excuse me?" he says, his brow furrowing.

"I said to get out of my retarder."

"Oh," he says, his hardened expression vanishing from his face. "I thought you just called me 'retarded'."

I take a moment to close my eyes before shaking my head. "No, but you're a complete numbskull," I tell him. "Now get the hell out of there!"

Getting up, he says, "That was intense." He shuffles out, and I shut the door. "So that cooler's called a 'retarder'?" he asks, scratching at his chin.

"Yeah," I say. "It's meant to slow down the fermentation process of yeast."

"I thought you were just thawing out the dough or something after we pull it from the freezer."

"Well, yes and no." Then: "I suppose."

He tugs at an ear. "Are you going to teach me to bake?" he asks suddenly.

"You barely make it here at eight," I say to him, slapping his shoulder. I tease, "You won't make four am."

"What if I do?" he challenges.

I smirk at him. "Then sure, I'll teach you." I turn to go back to my paperwork.

"By the way," Link calls, "what is 'naan bread'?"

"It's just a kind of flatbread," I say. "I've never made it before, to be honest." Turning back to face him before I retreat to the office, I tease him, "Hey, it's almost four, your little fan club might be trooping in here any minute now."

He scratches his head, completely confused. "Fan club?"

I giggle to myself as I shut the office door. Indeed, the little bugger has grown on me.

**...**

"Zellie?" Link calls out to me.

"What?" I call back to him, squeezing a little icing out of the pastry bag. Perfect. I spin the cake on the turntable, trying to find the perfect spot to start. I hear Link shuffle up beside me to watch as I quickly whip icing around the bottom of the cake to make a border.

Link chuckles next to me as I start to make a border around the top of the cake. "Like a real pro," he says proudly.

I snort as I finish the top border and begin to make a few decorations along the side of the round cake. In record time, I finish that too and pick up another pastry bag to begin to make some roses to decorate the top.

"You have to show me how to do that," Link says in awe of my skill as I begin to make a rose out of the buttercream.

I snicker before teasing him, "You'd fuck it up."

Link sniffs. A smile breaks out on his face, and he scratches at his chin. "Probably," he agrees in good humor as I slip the rose onto the cake.

"So what're we doing for All Hallows' Eve?" Link asks me like a curious child, watching me flick another rose to life before slipping it onto the cake. "It's in less than a month now."

I frown a little in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask him. What does he want? A date? A confetti cake? Sprinkles? I chuckle at these thoughts.

"What're you laughing about?" he counters.

I smile again and shake my head. "Nothing," I sing. "Now answer my question."

As I pick up another pastry bag, Link says, "Don't you do anything around here to celebrate?"

I shrug, and then squeeze out some leaves for the rose buds on the cake. "Like what? You want to hand out candy or something to little kids guising?"

Link perks up at this idea. "Can we?" he asks me excitedly.

"Sure," I say. "We close up at six, so we can do something for the little ones that pop on by before it gets dark out." I look up at him from my work. The kid's absolutely beaming. I laugh, "You like this holiday a lot, don't you?"

"I think it's the best," Link says excitedly, leaning up against the counter. "I love seeing all the different costumes the kids come up with."

"Don't shake the counter too much," I chide.

"Sorry," Link apologizes sheepishly. "Do you know the legend behind the holiday?"

Spinning the cake around to give it a look over, I say, "Not really. I wasn't much of a history buff in school."

"What'd you study?"

"Accounting."

If Link had a drink in his mouth, surely he would have spit it out right then. "You're joking," he says, completely astounded.

"Nope."

"Why're you running a bakery instead of making a decent salary at some top notch company?" he asks me. "You're too smart for just this."

"Turns out," I tell him, "I didn't like it."

"Is that why we're closed on Mondays?"

I laugh, taking the cake off the turntable. "Yeah, actually," I admit, marking the date on the bottom of the cardboard plate the cake sits on. "I hated my life most especially when Monday morning came around. I would get up in the morning and think, 'Shit, I have to go sit in that damn cubicle all day.' It was really uneventful."

Sliding the cake into the cake case, I change the subject and ask Link, "Wash the dishes yet?"

"Aye cap'in!" he says, saluting me. "Captain" was a nickname he, for whatever reason, had begun to adopt for me.

"Get the floors all swept?"

"Aye cap'in!" he repeats.

"Good," I say. "Now clean my counter."

His mouth thins a little as he frowns at me. "That's your mess, milady," he states flatly.

Picking up the pastry bags and tossing them in a bin, I tell him, "Aye, but it be my ship." I pick up the turntable and a stainless steel bowl off the counter and carry them to the sink as Link chuckles to himself and begins to wipe down the counter of stray icing. As I begin to scrub down the turntable, I call back to Link, "What was it you were saying about how All Hallows' Eve started?"

"Well," Link begins, "there's a legend-"

I cut in, "There's always a legend." I snort. "Can't it for once ever just be phrased like an 'urban myth'? Nope. 'The legend blah blah blah-'"

Link laughs a little at this and continues, telling me, "There's a legend that talks about a young hero during a time when a great evil befell Hyrule. The evil brought with it a dark cloak of Twilight over the land, and in this darkness, the hero transformed from a young man into a blue-eyed beast."

"A wolf, you mean?" I ask him over my shoulder as I throw the turntable into the sanitizer sink and grab the bowl to clean out.

"It's thought that he turned into a wolf, yes, but the legends themselves just state that he turns into a beast of some sort."

"Legends are always so detailed," I say dryly, and Link chuckles behind me.

"But he not only saved Hyrule, but saved all the creatures of the Twilight from the darkness that cloaked them as well."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't take the darkness out of the Twilight," I insist.

"The Twilight was taken over by that great evil, however," Link points out. "So I guess a better way to say it is that the hero cleansed the Twilight and brought it back to its natural state. In doing so, returned balance to the world."

"So that's why when the kids dress up, they dress up as Twilight creatures?" I ask, throwing the bowl into the sanitizer.

"You can't forget about the creatures were part of the darkness' army," Link tells me as I pull the turntable out of the sanitizer and place it on the drying rack. "Those costumes have been a little more popular the past couple of years."

"Most kids still opt to be some Twilight creature," I say. "How do we go from saving the world to collecting candy though?"

"It used to be more of a tradition to have some sort of feast," Link says. "It was supposed to be that one time of the year when Light and Twilight could connect. The whole handing out candy thing started when it became less religious and more commercialized."

I chuckle but find myself snorting as well as I pull the bowl out of the sanitizer. "Like with the Grand Illumination?"

Link snickers at this too. "I suppose so," he laughs as the bowl clacks on the drying rack. "That really has gotten overly commercialized, hasn't it?"

"I'm already seeing decorations for sale down at the hardware store," I say as I begin to drain the sinks. The sinks gurgle and moan as the water pools down through the drains.

Link snorts, throwing away the paper towel he was using to clean the counter. "I'm not surprised." He then says, shaking the Spitfire bottle at me, "Just wait. The second All Hallows' Eve is over, it's going to be all about the Grand Illumination."

"Which is ridiculous considering that it's like two months away," I say, pulling my apron off. I crack my neck and back a little after I hang my apron up.

Link puts up the Spitfire back in the supply closet and then pulls his own apron off. Hanging his apron up, Link asks me, "Will it be really busy come the holidays?"

"Probably," I say, stretching. "People like to have big dinners and such."

I head to the front of the shop and wait for Link to clock out. He jogs up to me and I open the door for him before turning to the wall to set the alarm. The alarm blares its annoying beeps as I push open the door and enter into the evening, the sun settling in behind the buildings and trees of Kakariko. I pull the door shut and jiggle my keys in the lock until it clicks.

Heading towards the back of the building where my car is parked, I ask Link, "You always walk here; do you want a ride?"

He shakes his head, "No, thank you." He flashes me a smile, telling me, "I like the exercise."

"You might not like it so much when it gets to freezing in a month or so," I say, slightly worried for him. He's a nice guy; I'd hate to have him show up with frostbitten fingers or something come winter.

He frowns a little at my remark. "I'll deal with that when that happens," Link says lightly, his smile returning.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he insists.

I shrug. Alright. Have fun walking home. I'm tired, and my feet are aching after today. But I do hope he makes it home okay. I shake my head. He'll be fine, the goob. I tell myself this as I watch Link walk with a little sway in his step as if he's listening to his very own radio in his head. I snicker at that. He probably is.

I walk to the back of the bakery and hop into my car. I breathe in a sigh of relief. Time to go home.

**...**

I let loose a yawn the next morning as I pull out the racks of French and Italian bread from the oven, a blast of heat assaulting my face, before shoving in the ciabatta and other assorted dinner rolls. I set the timer before pulling the French and Italian loaves over to the side. The smell they give off is nice and light, but at least it's not tempting and buttery like the croissants. Those make me want to chow down every morning when I pull them out of the oven. Oh, so good.

I glance into the corner of the shop where a television is kept and move to go rest my hip on the bread counter. Some home and garden show is on, one of those where people are trying to find their perfect house. International edition. I sniff, grimacing to myself as the couple on the screen pick the second house out of the three shown and are now happily settled in. Bitches. What the hell do these people do that they can just up and say, "Hey, I think I'm going to move from Termina to Holodrum"? Like really? What is your profession? They never mention that kind of crap on those shows, and it irritates the hell out of me. I could never just pack up and move to somewhere like Outset Island now.

I suppose I _did_ have the opportunity when I told Dragmire to go fuck himself, because I wasn't going to crunch his numbers anymore.

Oh well.

Look on the bright side, Zelda, no hurricanes or tsunamis in Kakariko. Nope. Just a towering volcano in the distance... Do I even have lava insurance? Do I need it? Are we in a lava zone? Huh. What about rock slides? Is there even insurance for that?

There's a knock on the front door, and I look over my shoulder to see Link waving at me in the morning sunlight. I glance up at the clock. Five minutes to eight. I shrug as I make my way over to the front door to let Link in. I can leave it unlocked; opening up five minutes early won't kill either of us.

"Morning, mate," I say as I open the door.

Link calls to me as he skips to the back, "Mornin' cap'ain!" After he punches in, Link grabs his apron and asks as he puts it on, "What threatens the ship this fine morning?"

"Nothing but my own lack of sleep," I say, yawning as one of the sinks bursts to life.

Link looks over at me, his eyebrows raised. "Didn't sleep well last night?" he asks, shaking out the water from his hands and grabbing a paper towel.

I shake my head. "Not really," I tell him. I rub my eye briefly. "I don't know why, but I just couldn't get to sleep until sometime after eleven."

I glance at Link to see him frowning, calculating the number of hours of sleep I got in his head. I chuckle at this to myself before answering it for him, "That means I got less than five hours last night."

"Really?"

"I get up at three, Link," I inform him. "Remember I'm here at four, every day but Monday?"

His frown still doesn't disappear as he pulls up the stools by the register. Plopping himself down on one, he waves me over and I comply, eager to sink into anything at the moment.

"What's up?" I ask, laughing a little.

Link slumps over on the counter, and I follow suit, letting my head fall into my hand as I lean one arm on the counter. I sniff lightly, breathing in the scent of the bread cooling a few feet away, as Link says, "You're always working so hard." I'm a little surprised, not by his bluntness, but by the seriousness that laces his voice. "Don't you ever take time off?"

"I take Mondays," I say. And then I add, "And holidays. Like the Grand Illumination and New Year's and such."

"Yeah, but that's just one day out of the week or two once every few months," he says. "I don't mind working six days out of the week, it keeps me busy, but you're here for so long out of the day."

"You're here from eight to six," I remind him, poking his shoulder.

"That's not fourteen hours."

"I take a couple of long breaks during the day." Which is true. If nothing needs to get done to prepare the bread either for the proofer or the oven, I usually sit on my ass, reading the paper or watching the news on the television we keep out front and eating some breakfast. Just before noon, I usually take at least an hour to sit on my ass again to eat or read – essentially repeating the breakfast routine. Hell, a few times, I left Ingo alone to catch a cat nap either in my car or the office (not that I told him that was what I was doing). I may be here for fourteen hours of the day, but I certainly don't work myself fourteen hours. I shrug my free shoulder, and ask, "So what do you want to do? Close shop for another day?"

It's Link's turn to shrug. "I don't know. Maybe if we could find someone else to work, you wouldn't have to work so hard yourself."

"You're concerned about my work ethic?" I ask, trying to hold back my own laughter. "I'm your boss," I say, kicking his stool a little. A smile flares on his face, breaking his serious demeanor. "I should be the one having a talk about _your_ work ethic, which seems to be lacking lately. I mean really, coming in five minutes early to clock in and sit on a stool?" I tease him, laughing as he swats his hand at me.

I sigh, however, once my laughter dies down. "I suppose I am getting a little beat down," I admit. "I just worry that this place won't make it if I'm not here." I emphasize, "All the time."

"You've got me," Link says, trying to cheer me up a little.

"You're just one person," I say.

Link points a finger at me. "Exactly."

After thinking about it for a minute, I ask Link, "What's your least favorite day of the week? You know mine."

Link's brow knits as he thinks it over carefully.

"I'm not asking you about rocket science," I joke.

He doesn't comment. He remains silent for a bit before saying decisively, "Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" I ask skeptically. "What's so bad about Wednesday?"

"Well," he says, "you already took Monday."

I say, "Link, I don't own Monday."

"I'm just saying," he sighs, "besides Monday, I hate Wednesday. But I really do think I hate it more than Monday."

"Why though?" I poke.

"It's fucking Wednesday!" he exclaims. "It just sits there, in the middle of the week. Not doing anything." I bust up laughing. "Really, 'Hump Day'? That's just terrible. Plus, I swear it's the reason that the week has an odd number of days."

"What's wrong with having seven days to a week?"

Link shrugs. "I don't know," he stutters out. "When I was a kid, it used to bug me because my grandmother would make me bathe on Sundays and Wednesdays. I thought it was stupid that I got go unshowered for one day longer during one part of the week."

"She wouldn't let you shower on Thursday?"

"Nope!" Link insists. "Had to be Wednesday. Farore forbid if I didn't bathe on Wednesday. I showered once on a Saturday, to try and even it out, she still made me shower on Sunday too."

"Why weren't you bugged out by Sunday then too?" I asked him skeptically.

He replies, "Sunday starts the week." He pauses for a second before adding on, "Or ends it. Whichever way you like to look at it."

"Oh, you were one of _those_ children," I chuckle.

Link turns to me and frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You were one of those kids that obsessed over not stepping on cracks and not mixing the Playdough colors, right?"

I didn't think Link's face could get any grumpier, but I was wrong. His grumpy expression at my correct guess sets me off in pearls of laughter again as he tells me to "Shove it."

After my laughter subsides, I tell him, "Seriously though. You don't like Wednesdays?"

"Nope."

"Then lets close up on Mondays and Wednesdays," I say. "But if there's a special order that needs to get done, like a wedding cake or something like that, we'll do it." Link's lips purse as he thinks it over. "We'll work five days a week instead of six."

"Until we can find an extra person," Link throws in.

I shrug, and say, "Sure." Although I do worry about hiring another person. The help would be nice, but I think I'd rip my hair out and send myself to an asylum if they were just like Link. One of him is enough for me, thanks. While the extra hand would be nice, I can't help but fret over the wage expenses. I won't have to have Link around as much, so I won't have to pay him as much, but it's still an expense to have someone else. I keep my musing of how to afford extra help to myself as Link gets to work on bagging.

"Hey Zellie?" he calls. "Zellie." I kind of like the nickname when he calls it.

I call back, "What?"

"The sandwich loaves are cool right?"

"They should be," I say. "Bag 'em and keep an eye on them. If they steam up, just open up the bags again."

"Okay," Link says, and the racks begin to grate as he drags it over to the bread counter. The metal trays rattle and scrape as he pulls them off and places them on the counter. He asks, pulling out of a loaf of pumpernickel rye out of its pan, "What's so bad about the steam?"

"It means that the center of the bread hasn't cooled off," I tell him. "The steam is just extra moisture collecting in the bag."

"Isn't it usually a good thing to have moist bread?"

"Not like that," I say. "The steam moistens the bread in a way to make it wet. And when something's wet, it molds."

Link grimaces. "Ew. So it molds quicker?"

"Yup."

"I'll keep an eye out for that then," Link promises me. Then he adds: "Captain."

I smile at him. "Good," I reply. I sit there staring out of the shop's front window watching cars drift by as if I was mesmerized until the oven's timer goes off, and the spell is broken. I hop off the stool and go to pull out the rolls, heat assaulting my face.

What I would give to go crawl into a hole right now.

* * *

><p>I forgot to mention that all the customers in this story so far have been based on actual customers that I deal with on a regular basis. Although the naan lady in real life is all about some carrot raisin muffins that have been discontinued ("Well can't you just bake me some?"). Some of our products come with a paper bag (since that's where the barcode is), while others don't (the barcode has to be printed out), and you wouldn't believe how some people have had some major paper bag envy this past week. It's actually kind of hilarious in retrospect, so I've definitely been trying to find a place to fit that in. Haha.<p>

I am still trying to figure out a name for the bakery, although I do think I'll stick with "Zombie Cake" as the title. I do appreciate all the suggestions guys!

On another note, I hope you guys have had a most excellent Hogmanay! And today also marks eight years that I've been an author on this site!

:3


	3. Work and Holiday

Zombie Cake

3.0

Work and Holiday

I'm lounging around in the front end of the bakery in a chair watching another one of those pesky couples pick their dream _vacation_ home on Windfall Island while waiting for the croissants in the oven to finish up. Sipping my coffee, I can't believe these people. This isn't a house they're going to live in year round, but a vacation home! They're going to take on a second mortgage for a place they'll only be at maybe once a year. Don't they have any sense? Again, what do these people do for a living? Certainly not baking, and they're certainly not corporate drones.

That's another thing. We don't have vacations in Hyrule. Not that I have much room to talk in my workaholic tendencies, but even when I was a corporate drone, I was only allotted one week's vacation after one year's worth of work (which I conveniently never took, but the payout when I quit was nice). Like _really_? In Termina, people usually get like five weeks of vacation time, and they all take it at the same damn time. The Carnival of Time signifies the end of summer and the start of change with the autumn season, and that's when people usually take their vacations. Essentially for the month of August, Termina is MIA.

The couple on the show, however, is Hylian, not Terminian. So what in the hell do these people do for a living? I must know!

There's a knock on the door behind me, and I swivel around in my chair, coffee mug to my lips to find Link waving groggily at me outside in the October sun, a couple of plastic bags in one hand – containing what? I don't know. Grumbling, I set my mug down on the little table in front of me before getting up to let him in.

"You're lucky we're on a commercial break," I tell him as he glides past me.

His eyebrows raise as he looks back at me. "Oh really?" he yawns, turning his gaze over to the television. "What're you watching anyway?"

"Some dumb show where you get to watch a couple look at three houses before they pick one," I call back to his retreating form, settling back in my seat with anticipation for the show's ending.

Link disappears into the back end of the bakery to clock in and retrieve his apron. When he comes back, he glazes over the racks of bread, but I instead wave him over to see this massive bullshit on the television screen.

"If this show is so dumb," he asks, pulling up a chair beside me, "why are you watching it?"

I shrug. I really have no idea considering all I do is get irritated at the couples on the screen. "Oh," the wife will say in a very clearly scripted way either when she and the husband are viewing the house or when they're shown "discussing" their options, "but the master bathroom is _really_ small." So house number one is out. The sad part is, though, that people say that kind of shit all the time when they're looking at a new home. Why do you need some huge, monstrous bathroom? Why do you need a shower that's as big as a drive-thru? Really people! How much time are you really spending in the bathroom? I spend maybe a total of an hour of my day in a bathroom in general to take my daily shower, piss and go the occasional number two.

Oh gosh, do I sound bitter? I think I do.

Please Nayru, let this not be some hidden bathroom envy seeping through.

The little jingle sounds as the show comes back on, and I lean over to Link. "They picked house number three this time," I whisper to him like it's a well-kept secret.

Link's face scrunches, clearly not understanding what I'm talking about. Dumbass.

The couple is then shown in their chosen vacation home about four months after the original filming, so now they're all settled in and cozy, and the home is all nice and decorated and spotless clean for the cameras. Fuck them. I know you throw your clothes on the floor too! Don't try to deny it, woman!

The wife smiles on the screen. "Well, we finally closed on the house about four months ago," she says. "We've been staying here for about three months, but I think we might go back to Hyrule in a few weeks."

Link's jaw slackens a little at this. "They what?"

"It's a vacation home," I tell him snootily.

"What?" he repeats again, the concept completely foreign to him. "They bought a house for half a million," he says slowly, "for a vacation?"

"Yup," I say lazily as the couple smiles at each other on screen, just so pleased about their fantastic little home. "What do these people do?" I blurt. "Like… I want to know! How can you just take a three-four month vacation?"

"This is ridiculous," Link says to himself. Then to me: "Why do you watch this stuff?"

"I have no idea!"

Link just busts up laughing at me. He hoots, getting up from his seat, "It makes good background noise, I suppose." He slides himself back behind the counter to wash his hands. The water pounds against the metal sink for about half a minute before cutting off. Link dries his hands and grabs hold of a rack to start bagging.

I finish my coffee just in time to retrieve the croissants from the confines of their oven. Throwing some oven mitts on, I quickly silence the timer and pull open the oven door. The smell of butter and all around pure deliciousness hits my nose as I step inside the oven and wheel out the rack. I can barely contain myself from drooling. Of all the breads and cakes and pastries that get baked here, the croissants are the worst. I feel like going on a rampage to eat every single one of them.

I put the rack off to the side to cool before walking out front to grab my mug. I head into the office and spy the bags that Link brought with him this morning under the desk. I place the mug in the sink by the microwave before leaving. Stepping back out, the smell of the croissants wafts over to my nose. The urge devour the whole rack comes back in a wave.

Holy shit, if I did that, I'd be so fat at this point, I wouldn't fit through the front door.

I head over a small sink across from the dishwasher to wash my hands. "Ay, Link," I call out, and my only response from him is a tired "Hm?" Stupid boy. I ask him, "What'd you bring in the bags today? That's certainly a lot of food for just lunch."

He cranes his head back to look at me, a wolfish smile on his face as he tells me, "Decorations."

Oh gosh. "For All Hallows' Eve?" I holler above the sound of the gushing water.

I look back at him, and the smile is gone. In its place is a very thin frown. "For the Grand Illumination, of course. I mean, it's only two months away," he sneers at me.

I feel my eyes narrow. "You son of a bitch," I say, but he just hoots and laughs. I shout at him, throwing my paper towel at his back, "Don't even try to play me like that!"

"Seriously though," he says, laughter still lacing his words, "there's candy too."

"All Hallows' Eve isn't for another three weeks," I tell him. "You expect me to just let a few bags of candy survive until then?"

"I didn't realize you had an inner fatty," Link says.

Ohhh, but I do! I most surely, sorely do.

"Link," I say, "I run a bakery."

"And?"

I retort, "Having an inner fatty is kind of a requirement."

**…**

I yawn, rubbing my eye. I glance over and my bed looks most inviting right now. The overstuffed pillows, the plush mattress, the ever fluffy comforter and the soft sheets – the urge to just jump right into it is extremely tempting. I have to avert my gaze from it to avoid the physical urge and demand to get comfy in my bed. I tell myself that the sheets will be cold, but that doesn't make the bed any less desirable.

I groan inwardly, pacing around my bedroom. My feet noiselessly trample the fibers of my bedroom rug and tap lightly on the hardwood. Goosebumps shiver themselves up and down my arms and back as I step onto the cold ceramic tile in the bathroom. At this point, I would very gladly excuse myself from a Klondike if it meant I could hop into bed. I reach the shower and turn on my heel and begin pacing back out into my bedroom. It's already almost eight-thirty, I realize, looking back into my bedroom at one of the analog clocks on the wall. I cross the threshold of the bathroom, my feet suddenly warmed by the hardwood flooring.

"That's just how those things work, Zelda," my father says to me as I scratch my scalp through long locks. My father, as usual, has been talking in circles again. He speaks slowly and carefully, which would be perfectly fine if he didn't feel the need to repeat his point three times. I sigh to myself as he starts the cycle over.

When I was younger, I was never grounded but one time, and that was by my mother. The reason for which, I have long since forgotten, but its aftereffects I have not. I could not go out for two weeks – which was perfectly fine actually. We had just moved to Castle Town from the surrounding suburbs, and even though I'd started school, I hadn't made any friends. So after school, I'd go home, alone, and stay there, alone. Kind of sad, in retrospect, but I was fine with it. I got a lot of reading done those first few months we lived there.

However, upon seeing that this was not a suitable punishment for any of my wrong doings, my mother opted for a different approach to punish me. She sent me to my father. This was the worst. My father would then give me a twenty minute lecture, but, mind you, since he is the way he is and speaks the way he speaks, that twenty minute lecture stretched for like three hours. There is no torture worse than being lectured by my father. It was like facing the death sentence. The last circle of hell.

Another punishment, in my opinion, would be having to ask my father for help on my homework. My mother graduated high school, sure, but she went to work in an office straight away and then married my father at nineteen. These were back in the days when having a degree was a big thing. These days, everybody has a degree and you're not even looked at if you don't have a piece of paper with your name on it saying you spent a shit ton of money for it. So with her lack of education, my mother would point me in the direction of my father for help, especially when it came to math. My father, the brilliant man he is, has a masters in finance, and while he can't seem to handle his own finances very well (something that my mother, his second wife, would have to do, and now it is the job of his third wife), my father handles his business' and his clients' finances like a genius. He crawled his way up in the stock market world, and now he is the owner of his own stock trading company.

I dreaded having to ask him for homework help though, even though I do know he is an incredibly smart man. I needed help understanding long division when I was ten since I couldn't understand my teacher's explanation of the dividend as a family and the whole "little baby dumpling" business. I still don't. So I went and asked my father to explain, and he did. He did it very well too, and I understood everything and got my homework done in a flash. I later aced the test we had on it too, thanks to him. However, that night when I asked him for help on long division, I also left with a basic understanding of algebra, using "x" as a variable, balancing equations and cross multiplication. My father, brilliant, but completely lacks any charisma or understanding of what a ten-year-old's brain can comprehend. Brilliant, but a moron.

This is also a reason why I try to limit my calls to him. Sometimes, I purposely call him at work, so that at least I have an excuse to cut the phone call short if he goes off on a tangent ("Dad, I have to go, I have a customer," I'd say and get a quick "Oh okay!" in response before the line goes dead, and I'd just sit back and enjoy the rest of my lunch. Sorry Dad.). I think I hate it even more when I miss a call of his while I'm at work, and instead of leaving a proper message or none at all, I have to go through all the damn menu options on my cell phone's voicemail just to listen to a one second "Call me!" that my father shouted into his phone. (I already saw that I missed your call on my brilliantly named "Missed Calls" list, Dad. I will call you back from there.) I love my father, I do! Honestly. I just can't stand talking to the man. All the time. Sometimes I wonder how my mother lasted being married to him for twenty-eight years, but then when I think of all the crazy things my mother has done, I wonder the same of my father. It's a downright miracle, thinking back, that they could stand to be married that long to each other.

I glance back at the only correct clock out of the nine on the wall and see that it's now a quarter to nine. Really Dad, let's hurry this up. Please? I pinch the bridge of my nose as I give a small "Uh-huh" into my father's rapid monologue on the other end of the line. The phone is hot against my ear and cheek, and I gaze longingly back at my bed. If I hop in now, I'd surely fall asleep with my father still blathering on.

Finally, I tell myself, "Fuck it!" and I interrupt him. I don't even know what he's going on about anymore anyway. "Dad," I cut in, pacing back into the bathroom, "I really need to go to bed. I have work tomorrow."

"Oh you do?" he asks rapidly, almost as if it was one word. And the next thing I know, I've lost him again, and the slow droned pace of his voice returns.

"Dad," I say, trying to catch his attention. "Dad. DAD."

"What?"

I say slowly, "I really, really have to go, Dad. I have to get up at three for work tomorrow."

"Oh okay!"

_Beep_.

My father. Honestly.

I sigh, placing my cell phone on the vanity of the master bath. My eyes glaze over it. Two sinks. Two! Grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste, I can't help but feel a slight pang of loneliness at the thought of the two sinks in my bathroom. And the thought of it being my bathroom. My bedroom. My house. Not that I'd ever indulge anyone in on these kinds of thoughts, I'd much rather put up a front and act like it was nothing than admit this little pang I feel when I think of the two sinks in this bathroom of mine. My bathroom.

I pull my blond locks over to one shoulder and clutch my hair to my chest as I prepare to spit out the toothpaste. I quickly wash out my mouth with water and mouthwash before flossing. I've always been diligent about my dental hygiene ever since my father remarried. My step-brother whom I barely speak to, Sheik, had to get a root canal done a few months after our parents married, and from the blubbering way he spoke (whether it was from the drugs or the pain, I have no idea), and the general daze of pure pain he was in, I vowed to never let myself come to a similar fate.

At least my teeth look nice. My nose wrinkles in distaste, titanium glinting on one nostril under the bathroom light, as I notice how there's a dark circle and a slight bag under each of my eyes. Ew. I already have a thin face as it is, but that just makes me look scary. Is this what other women cover up with make-up? How do they do that?

I grimace at my reflection one last time and shut off the bathroom light after I grab my phone off the counter.

I rub the sleep in my eye as I shut off the overhead light in my bedroom and slide into bed. Finally. Oh Nayru, this is good. I shiver slightly in the cold sheets, but they'll warm soon enough. My arm reaches out and pokes at the alarm clock on my bedside table so I can make sure that it's set for tomorrow morning. The arm retracts almost mechanically, and I snuggle into my covers.

The soft tick-tocks from the nine clocks that line my bedroom wall help lull me away into sleep.

…

Link is sneering at me. Sneering! What nerve! So in return, I grimace right back at him. He blubbers something out to me and then pokes me in the forehead with his index finger. The fuck is his problem? Still holding my frown, I swat his hand away from my forehead as he says, "I can't believe you, Zellie."

And then he laughs. Laughs!

I realize then that he must be joking around.

He rolls over and grabs me with his left arm. Surprised, I try and wiggle myself out of his grasp, but he only grips me to his chest tighter. Something's weird though. Staring up at the ceiling, my left cheek is to his chest. I don't think this is right. Not right at all. But what? I quit my wiggling. Link's hold on me loosens. He whispers into my hair, but I can't really catch what he's saying.

I mumble back, my lips tickling his skin, "What?"

He repeats himself, readjusting his head on the only pillow (that doesn't even have a case on it), but I still have no idea what he's talking about. All I caught through his mumbling was "Zellie", but I'm only really slightly aware of the strange yet desirable feeling of his arm across my own arm and my back. Under my t-shirt, I can feel my skin crawl at the sensation.

So I ask "What?" again. I scratch my leg with one socked foot, the rough cotton proving effective against the sudden itch.

He howls, the laughter shaking him from his spine to his ribs, and I pull away slightly from the sudden movement. Once it subsides, he repeats himself again and pulls me back to him; I go willingly, shuffling under the comforter. I still have no idea what in the world he's trying to say, so I just respond with a "Hm" and don't dare ask him "What?" again. He goes on, and all I can really pay attention to is the pleasant feeling of the slight vibrations of his voice as it rackets through his rib cage up to his throat.

This doesn't feel right.

And then suddenly he gets up and climbs over me to get off the bed, but with no shirt on, all I can grab onto to pull him back is the seat of his boxers. He chuckles and grabs my hand without even looking for it. Then he just tosses it away. My hand. Ouch. My ego.

I don't tell him I'm hurt by the gesture, putting up the front that I'm strong as he throws the door open and walks out of the room. I don't fucking need him. Fuck you, Link. Even if I really am just jealous that I don't have some article of clothing in the same plaid as your boxers. Just fuck you.

I roll over on my back and call his name, but he doesn't respond.

Dumbass.

I call for him again, but again, I am only met with silence.

I swear I will skin that boy alive one of these days. So fucking stupid. I swing my feet over the bed, and they make contact not with a rug or wood, but with the soft, trampled fibers of tan carpet. I crack my back some. Nayru, please remind me to get a fucking mattress like that. It's like I was laying on the clouds of heaven or something. I must have it.

"Link!" I call again. Just fucking answer me already!

I sigh and scratch at the crown of my head.

Did I take a piss?

Yes.

No, wait- Yes. I did.

I snort.

How could I fucking forget that? That was like at least twenty minutes ago. Come on, Zelda, get with the program already.

My eyes take in the room I'm sitting in. It's mostly bare, except all the crap piled into a shallow closet to my left, some dirty clothes piling out onto the floor. Right in front of the bed and next to the closet is a dresser with a small television on top of it. Glancing over my shoulder, there's a window in the corner, covered by a weathered bed comforter. Across from me, perpendicular to the bed in the corner of the room is a battered desk and chair; both have obviously seen better days, especially the desk which has been graffitied heavily. I stare blankly at the message, "Godspeed!" on the top drawer of the desk. A desktop computer and an old tube monitor take over the desk's surface. Next to the desk, the door is slightly ajar to a hallway lined with hardwood flooring.

Grumbling, I get up onto my feet. I kick my pants up off the ground, catching a leg in my hand; my shoes are underneath and after wiggling myself back into my jeans, I slip my checkered shoes back on. I see my sweater is still lying across the back of the chair, and I slip it over my head. Something's missing though.

Something's not right.

I look around the room once more, but I can't quite place what in the hell is missing.

I pat my pockets; my phone and wallet are in the back ones. I don't have a bag with me, so I should have just those two things in my pockets. I give myself a frantic pat down, the sense of knowing that something is missing from my person.

My bra.

My head whips around the room, searching for it.

He's so damn messy. The room's not very big, and there's not a lot of furniture, but he has his shit fucking _everywhere_. Link, seriously, why do you need like three comforters? One's on the bed, and the other two litter the floor. Honestly, you can't even pick them up? That boy. In an attempt to locate my missing bra, I throw one up and alas find nothing. I toss it onto the bed and go for the second, and once again, I turn up empty handed. I throw myself onto the bed and look down between the foot of space between the bed and the exterior wall.

Peekaboo! Found it!

I reach for it, barely able to grasp it in my hand before flinging myself onto my back on the bed. The bra rests tauntingly in my grip. Fuck it. I already got my sweater and my shirt on. I'm not going to bother putting it back on right now. I don't care. I scrunch my nose a little, knowing that it's cold outside. Screw it. It's not like anybody can see anything through the cable knit of my sweater and if I really was embarrassed, I wouldn't parade myself around with my bra in my hand, now would I?

But I should probably not do that.

I holler out, "Link!" as I try to shove my bra into the pocket of my hooded sweater. Sometimes, I feel like I'm a kangaroo or something when I wear sweaters like this. Wonder Pouch activate! Or not. My stupid bra won't fit.

I simply throw any possible shame or embarrassment aside. Actually, I don't even care. I have no regrets and absolutely feel no shame.

I yell for Link again, but he still doesn't respond. The fuck is wrong with him?

But then his beaten shoes by the desk catch my eye. And his pants are still crumpled at the door. Suddenly a feeling of dread sinks slowly into my stomach and settles in.

Oh no… Oh no!

Quickly I whip open the bedroom door, Link's jeans unceremoniously being smashed against the wall. I look up and down the empty hall, but he's not here. Not here at all.

Link simply disappeared.

Suddenly I jolt.

"Shit!" I yell. Link's lost! How the fuck am I going to find him? What am I going to do? What am I going to do? "Fuck!" He needs me!

My chest heaves with each breath I take, and then I realize that the room I'm in is dark, save for a blue light that illuminates my slim form under the covers of my bed. Music blares through the darkness. My room. I turn on the light and shut off my alarm and look around.

The fuck am I going to do? Link's gone! Wait! What if he's not just lost? What if someone took him? Holy shit, Link's been kidnapped. Fuck! Fuck!

I sink back into my bed and feel the spot next to me. Gone! "Shit!" I repeat. "I'm always on the left by the wall, not hi- wait, what the fuck?"

I bolt up.

There's no bra in my hand, no pants on the floor, no shoes in the corner by a desk. I'm in a bed, my bed. One that's slightly less comfy, but has actual sheets on it. And pillows. And these pillows have pillow cases on them to boot. I have a sweater on, but it's not the cable knit one. And jeans certainly do not clad my thin legs.

The fuck?

Heat creeps across my cheeks as I slowly realize what has happened.

Nayru, if you can hear me… shit. Oh dear Nayru, please do not let Link EVER find out about this.

I creep back under covers, as if hoping to hide my embarrassment at the situation. I do this despite knowing that I'm completely alone in my house and that no one has any idea what just happened to me. I still just can't shake the embarrassment. Really- like… where in the world did _that_ come from?

There's an itch on my right hand, and I absently scratch at it while contemplating the events. I shiver a little as the itch begins to recede and just lay there watching as the minutes pass on my alarm clock. When the clock finally reaches 3.15, I realize I can't lie in my bed any longer, else I'll be late to start the morning bake.

I groan as I throw back the covers to go take a shower. I foresee a very long day ahead of me today come eight am. Sighing, I throw my night clothes off and turn the water on before sitting my ass down on the toilet.

He won't know if you don't tell him, Zellie.

The water beats inside the shower.

Oh gosh. "Zellie".

I slap my cheeks. Wake up!

**…**

As if my dream of Link disappearing this morning wasn't disturbing enough for me, he keeps calling me "Zellie" today. Can this get any more embarrassing? But Link, thank Farore, is completely oblivious to my inner torture, my embarrassment and the ever creeping blush. It's like my red cheeks are a new accessory I wanted to try out today.

"Hey Zellie," Link starts.

Din give me strength. "What?" I respond. Please don't mumble. Please have a shirt. I turn around. Shirt, apron, pants, hat, everything is normal. Thank you; I breathe a sigh of relief.

"We're closing up on Wednesdays starting tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," I say, a slight stammer in my voice. I try not to look at him as I pour sprinkled batter into cupcake molds with the help of a spatula.

Link frowns and studies me. "You okay?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," I say, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Really." Yes, indeed. This procedure is just as delicate as surgery. Do not look up, Zel.

He shrugs. "Okay," he says, defeated. "You just look like you had a rough night or something." Oh jeez. Shake it off! Shrug! Easy enough. Yes! "There are no special orders for tomorrow, right?"

"Nope," I inform him. I smile, a real one this time. I set the bowl down. "We got the whole day off tomorrow." Mm-hm. The whole day. Away from Link. Time I can take to restore my personal pride and dignity and wash away the shame of- well whatever it was that we did in my dream before it started. Maybe by Thursday the details of the dream, or the dream itself, will vanish from my memory, but with the way it's been torturing me today, a smidgen of doubt slides in on that happy possibility.

I glance over at him out of the corner of my eye. Link smirks and nods in agreement. His lips part, and then his jaw clamps shut, morphing his lips into a thin line. He was about to say something, but seems to have thought better of it. Whatever it is, I think I'm better off without him even talking to me today.

But I notice how his eyes are bearing into me. Fucking shit. I can feel my hands start to shake a little in my nervousness as I attempt to look anywhere but his face, but I can't break away from those stupid blue eyes that have trapped me.

What in the hell did my brain do to me last night?

"What?" I finally manage, my hands still clutching the spatula and the bowl of batter.

Link all of a sudden bolts close to my face, our noses about an inch from each other. Yeah, if I wasn't uncomfortable before, I am now. To the tenth power. (Using those math skills, Dad!)

Finally, Link says, "I thought I was just seeing things." He backs away.

"What?" I know I've seen things. Plenty of things. And they cannot be unseen! Oh Goddesses, why?

"Do you really have purple eyes?" he asks me in disbelief.

What? That was what it was? Man, I really am a nut case today.

"I have purple raccoon shadows around my eyes."

"Seriously."

"They're purple."

There's a slight awkward pause in which neither of us says anything. Well, it's awkward for me. I don't think Link has any idea how much of a fucking nutter I am today.

Then Link gushes, "That's really cool." Yeah, it is. Can I please just dig myself a hole? Hello? Anybody up there? But Link's apparently the godesses' favorite today. Damn him. He asks me excitedly, "Can I make the frosting?"

"Sure," I say. It'd be a big help, I suppose. Hey, Zelda. You won't have to make any buttercream today. Maybe Nayru is trying to shine her light on me. I smile stupidly at this thought as I say, "Go for it!"

Picking up the sheet of cupcakes, I slide them in the oven to bake and then set the timer.

I then shuffle off to take care of the bread counter while Link gets to work on making the buttercream frosting. I finally have my personal solace with the sound of a mixer between Link and me. Perfect.

At least it's a personal haven until I see who walks in the door. Is somebody really trying to break me today? Honestly. The bells jingle as he steps inside the bakery. I don't know his name, but he is one of the weirdest people we get on a regular basis. He always wants a loaf of Italian bread, and none of it is ever soft enough or _something_. I force a smile and greet him. Oh man, what's going to be his issue today?

He grunts in response and begins to feel each loaf of Italian. "Were these baked today?"

"Yes, sir. They were," I reply.

He squishes one between his hands and then puts it back. Oh gosh. "They aren't really soft. Do you have any others?"

"No, those are all I have for today."

"You're not going to bake any more?"

"I could, but you'd have to wait for about two hours," I say.

He looks at me skeptically. "Why does it take that long?" he asks.

"They have to proof, sir, and I already turned my proofer off," I tell him. "I'll have to turn it on and wait for it to get up to temperature again before I can put the dough in there. Once in there, the dough has to stay there for about an hour or so to rise. Then they have to bake for about a half an hour."

He leans over the top of the bread bar, the shoulders of his black pea coat popping up. His fingers tap the glass as he says, "That's okay. I don't want it then." His eyes glaze the bakery, taking in me standing at the counter to Link in the back at the mixer, whom I'm sure is trying his hardest not to turn around. "I used to be a medic," he tells me. "I don't know if you guys set that bread down anywhere before you put the bag." Why yes! Link and I love to just throw them on the floor. Five second rule, dude. "You know, you can spread hepatitis through food surfaces. One guy did that, and everyone in that kitchen got it." Uh-huh. We got the hepatitis all up in this bitch. Woo!

Eventually, after letting the man rant for about ten minutes, he leaves.

"Holy shit!" Link shouts out, and I turn around to face him. "I thought he was never going to leave!"

"I know," I groan.

"What was with that bullshit about hepatitis?"

I snort. "Like you and I have it to begin with." I say, "Hepatitis A can be spread through food, but you and I would have to be contaminated with it."

"I thought it was spread through your poop."

I chuckle like a little kid at that before saying, "It is. We'd have to get fecal matter infected with the virus onto our hands and then touch the food for it to spread. Like following basic health codes keeps it from spreading if you have it."

"That's disgusting," Link says.

Changing the subject somewhat, I tell him, "Last Grand Illumination, he got mad the day after when we reopened."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't have any cupcakes fresher than the ones I made the day before the Grand Illumination."

"They have a shelf life of like a week!" Link exclaims.

"I know!" I agree. "I had made too much to begin with, and then I wasn't about to make him a batch. Can you imagine how he'd dictate how I'd do everything? It'd be a nightmare, and I'd waste so much of my supplies."

The mixer groans to life as Link howls with laughter over it. When Link shuts the mixer off, he says, "He told me he used to be a pilot."

"He's told me that before to," I chuckle. "He apparently used to be _a lot_ of things."

We both cackle like hyenas before Link calms down enough to tell me, "Seriously. That guy is a real creeper."

"You're creeped out by him?" I ask him skeptically. "I'm the one with lady bits."

"I didn't tell you this before, but," Link pauses, "like he asked me one time if scratched my junk before touching his bread."

My jaw drops. "Are you serious?" I shout in disbelief. Link nods in the affirmative. "Oh man," I say. "That is creepy. What're we going to do about him?"

Link chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "I don't think there is anything we can do."

"I can't believe he said that to you," I say. "I'm sorry."

Link laughs.

"This day is so fucked up."

And the mixer grinds into life once more.

* * *

><p>HOLY CRAP GUYS. First! My crazy asshole next door neighbor was making a fucking bomb! I was sitting talking to my neighbor across the street when all of a sudden a bunch of cops with their guns drawn come swarming out from between our houses. His wife, after years of being abused and beaten by him, grabbed their son and fled down to her mother's, and the mother called the cops on him for a domestic dispute which then led to them finding an almost completed IED. Crazy shit guys! The cops busted down the door, dragged my neighbor outside, threw him to the ground and then handcuffed him. No joke guys. Someone's getting a dishonorable discharge now. Being from Chicago and having moved down here, I was feeling some small townitis for a while until this. At least now that he's in jail, he won't be parking on my lawn and I can get my mail again. The wife and son are safe now, and I really hope they get the help they need; the poor kid was a recluse.<p>

On the actual story: Zelda's father - my dad to the tee. He was the reason why I was made a guinea pig for advanced math classes.

I noticed, by the way, that FF doesn't like me using hyphens for breaks, but I finally cracked the code with something I'm satisfied with. So I hope I caught all the breaks that went missing previously in the story, but if you see something off and think it's a break I missed, please let me know.

Anyway, I'm really surprised by the amount feedback I'm getting from this from the reviews to the PMs to all the alerts that people are following this. It's great, I really appreciate it guys. I try to respond to reviews, but I don't always get to, so I just wanted to let you all know, I do read and care about all the comments and suggestions you guys make.

I really, really like GraysonPaladin's suggestion to name the bakery Skyloaf as well as LucusBravvus97's Rito Patisserie. There's something about calling it Skyloaf though...

I also wanted to let you guys know that updates from this point on may be a longer stretch than what you've had so far, sorry. I'm currently working on trying to finish a novel, and I barely made my deadline last month. Haha. I've been once again caught up in my research for it and revisions. It's close to being done; I'm just about to the climax of the plot, but there's a lot to it that needs to be added and edited. Here's the thing about this story though, it is godawful. The narrator is a cannibal facing off against another serial killer, so there are many spots where I'm just like, "I can't do this. This is too gross." Those are the times when I have picked up trying to work on the stories I have on this site, so I can assure you, nothing here will be totally neglected, because I need a break for something light hearted.

But anyway, thank you again guys for all your support and comments. I'm really stoked about this story now, and I'll see you in the next chapter!

:s


	4. A Date and a Party

Zombie Cake

4.0

A Date and a Party

"Sheik!"

"Please?" Sheik whines on the other end of the line. I pinch my nose in frustration. "I'm not asking you to commit to marriage or anything. Jeez."

"No," I say stubbornly. "I'm not doing it!"

He sighs. "Quit being such a bull," he says flatly. "Just do me this favor, please? I really want to score with this chick."

I holler back at him, "Sheik, I am not your wingman!"

"Well obviously," he replies in an annoyed tone. "You're totally cock-blocking me right now, you know that?"

I flop back down on my bed. "Dude, we haven't spoken in like two months," I remind him. "And then you want to call me out of the blue and ask me to do this for you? Really?"

Silence creeps in on our conversation over the phone.

"Please?"

"Why do you need me to come along anyway? What is this chick's deal?" I ask him in a flurry.

"Please?" he repeats, ignoring my questions. "I'll keep calling you at all hours of the night. I know you get up early." I can almost hear his eyebrows waggle. What a little bitch.

"I'm actually closing shop on Mondays and Wednesdays now," I inform him plainly. I silently crack the knuckles on my left hand.

"Oh good! So get ready."

"No."

"Oh, come on, Zelda, please?" he whines again. Sheik. The man that turned whining into a craft. He says hopefully, "My sister from another mister?"

"My brother from another mother," I snap back.

There's a pause before: "Oh, that's cold."

I sigh. "It's already seven o'clock, Sheik."

"Well, you can stay up late now, right?" he throws out. Nayru, knock some sense into him. Please? For me?

"No," I argue. "You'll mess up my sleep schedule! I still need to go to bed at like nine."

Sheik groans. "Zelda, please. Do this for me. We can hang out after, get some drinks?" he offers. Then he tries to tempt me with "I'll buy," in that sly tone of his. When I still refuse, he huffs at me, "Come on, we can stay out all night and keep you up that way when tomorrow night comes around, you'll be so sleepy you'll be knocked out and have the best sleep of your life. It's like Nightquill, only more natural."

"I'm not an owl," I tell Sheik.

"Zelda, I have your address," he tells me. "I am not afraid to come begging at your doorstep. This girl's waiting for me to call her back."

"Fine!" I concede. "Where are we going? Where am I meeting you? What am I wearing? What the fuck am I talking about?"

"Uh, haven't worked that out yet. Just get your ass over here as soon as possible. Wear something nice, but don't get all casual on me. Like find a damn dress. Spruce up," he instructs me like I'm an idiot. "And just don't talk about deep sea creatures or whatever the hell you've been watching on those Disco and History shows."

"Fine. I'll see you in a half hour," I tell him and hang up before he can say anything else.

Dear Nayru, what have I gotten myself into?

Grumbling to myself, I get off my bed and open my closet. Great. Shirts and jeans and shirts and jeans. I dig through all the hangers to get the back end of the closet, just beyond the door, to get to the somewhat nicer clothing that I own. I pull out all my dresses and toss them out on my bed. Damn. Sheik won't be pleased. They're all pretty casual. I scratch at my head, mulling over my decision before deciding on a white and navy striped one. It's a dress, yes? Yes. I did that much.

Throwing off my black t-shirt, stained with flour and icing, I toss it into my hamper and toss my jeans into it as well. If Sheik's taking me out for the night, I think I could use a shower. So much for the half an hour time frame. Oops. Sorry. I smile devilishly to myself as I start up the shower.

I shower quickly and begin to sort through the tangle of the blond mop on my head. With my hair combed, I throw my clothes on, wiggling into the dress. It's a little tighter than I remember. Huh. I knew I should have kept my hands off Link's candy. I just hope he hasn't noticed. I make a mental note to replace it before he finds out before digging into my small dresser in the closet for some socks.

I brush my teeth and glance over at the clocks. The one for this time zone reads 7.20. I shrug as I spit out the toothpaste. I won't be too late, I suppose. Maybe I should fart around my house, just to piss Sheik off.

But then he might not buy me drinks later.

Actually, he might have been totally bluffing.

_Dammit_.

I throw my hands up at my own indecision, before throwing on my Chucks. Fuck dressing up. It's not like I really want to meet this shirt. I grab a jet black jacket, pull it on and shove my phone and wallet hastily in the pockets before grabbing my keys.

The drive over to Sheik's condo is uneventful, however, the second I ring the doorbell, I'm assaulted with a "Where have you been? I've been waiting!"

"Calm down," I say. "I'm here."

He looks me up and down before saying, "I told you, no casual."

"Fuck 'em," I say. "If you want me to go, this is how I'm going."

"Chucks. Really?"

"They can be classy," I retort.

Sheik replies, "Yeah, with a nice dress. You're wearing cotton day wear, and your hair is still wet. I hope it dries quick."

"Since when have you been all into fashion?" I ask lazily as Sheik tries to usher me quickly into his car. He looked nice tonight, I'd give him that. His long blond hair was somewhat under control, he'd shaved even, and he was dressed sharply in a white dress shirt, a pin-striped vest and slacks.

"I'm leaving my keys in here for the night," I say. "Or should I take them with me? We're still going out for drinks after? Right? Or are you going to ditch me to go bone this chick? Because to be honest, I'm leaning towards that you'll pull the latter on me."

He flushes as he starts the car and says, "I don't know, actually. But so far, drinks are on."

"They better be on," I tell him. "You fucking owe me for this, you know that right?" He nods, and then I say, "You're my bitch."

We chuckle together before falling in a companionable silence. We don't always get along, and we're not blood related, but it is these little moments that I wish that I had a sibling growing up. I suppose I'm going to be stuck with Sheik, and I should make the best of it.

I say, breaking our code of silence, "You know, why don't we talk more?"

Sheik shrugs. "I dunno," he replies. "Do you think it's because we're not blood?"

"Kind of." Then: "I know we don't get along all the time-"

"Show me siblings that do," he cuts in, and I chuckle.

I don't continue for a minute before saying, "I don't know. It's like we just don't really know each other. At least it feels that way."

"Some people think you're my sister, even though you really aren't," he tells me.

"Really?"

"It's the thin face and the blond hair," he laughs. "But uh…" he trails. Sheik shrugs and then goes on to say, "I do know a thing or two about you."  
>"Yeah?"<p>

"You're a wild one," he says. "You've got a fire in you, and I think it makes you stronger." He pauses, and then he says, "Maybe I just can't keep up with you."

I realize there that Sheik is a little more insightful than I originally thought he was, and a little sweeter too. I thank him, and we fall back in silence.

"How's the bakery?" Sheik cuts in.

"Alright. It's slowed down some since all the tourists from the summer are gone, but it'll pick up in a couple of weeks."

"Leafers."

I laugh and say, "Yeah. But then the second All Hallows' Eve is over the holidays start. So I'll be busy preparing everybody's Harvest Moon feast at the end of November and then all the craziness for orders will come in for their Grand Illumination dinners and New Year's."

"You want to spend Harvest Moon together?" he asks. "And maybe Grand Illumination?"

"Sure," I say. "Don't invite our parents," I quickly add.

Sheik hoots with laughter and tells me, "Now _that_ I can agree with you on."

"Where are we going anyway?" I ask him. "Seriously."

Sheepishly, Sheik tells me, "Romani's."

"Really?"

"Really really."

Oh man. "Now I really feel like a jackass for dressing like this," I say. "Thanks."

"I told you no casual," he insists. A car speeds past us as we drive through a light towards the restaurant. I move my wallet from an outside pocket to an inside one and zip the pocket closed as Sheik says softly to me, "Thanks for coming. Really. We should probably do dinner together more often."

"No more stuffed shirts though," I say.

"Deal."

"Once a week?"

"Sure."

"Let's eat on Sundays. You always get Sundays off at the pawn shop, right?" I ask him.

"Yeah. Sundays are good." He pauses and then says, "We don't have to eat this Sunday, though right?"

"Naw. I'll be sucking your wallet dry later tonight," I inform him giddily, as Sheik pulls the car up to Romani's. We sidle through the parking lot until we find a space and park. "Ready?" I ask my brother as we unbuckle.

"Not really," he says, adjusting his shirt sleeves.

"You'll be fine," I assure him.

We enter the lavish restaurant, the hostess scrunching her nose at my outfit. Suck it bitch. Sheik exchanges a few words with her before she leads us to a table where a pretty young woman sat across from the stuffed shirt Sheik called me about. Great. I forgot his name already. At least the table's nice?

Romani's is a well-known restaurant, owned and run by my friend Malon's rancher family. Within the restaurant is a milk bar, stocked with high quality products produced at Malon's and her cousins' ranches. In the summer months and holidays, it's almost impossible to get a seat at the bar and even harder to get a table at this fancy place. It's not really my style, nor did I think it was Sheik's, but I'm guessing it's this chick's over here. Obviously, my brother's trying to impress her and butter her up some. I approve, Sheik. What I don't approve of, is that you have to drag me along.

"Hey," Sheik greets them. "Sorry, we got a little held up," he apologizes and then turns to me. "This is my sister, Zelda."

The pale woman smiles at me, and I can't help but catch something glinting in her deep blue eyes. Her skin has a slight tint to it; she's probably of Zora decent. "Hello," she says, "I'm Ruto. Your brother has said so much about you." She's smiling, but I'm still suspicious. Maybe Sheik and I do have some sort of real sibling bond. I do have to admit, in the looks department, Sheik did a pretty good job. Her hair was a deep blue black, cut short in a bob style and straight as a stick. She had fairly thin face like Sheik and I, but she had high cheek bones like that of a high fashion model. "Sit, sit," she says, and I sit down next to the stuffed shirt, whatever his name was. Addressing me once more, Ruto says, "Zelda, I love your hair. Who cuts it?"

Feeling the sensation of a blush creeping across my cheeks, I respond, "Uh, I do." That was an unexpected question.

"Really?" Ruto gushes. "It's so thick, and you have the nicest wave to it. You really have an eye," she compliments. "I especially like your bangs. When did you start cutting it yourself?"

"Thank you," I reply. "Sometime in high school. I got sick of having other people cut it."  
>I laugh socially, "My hair's so thick; they wouldn't add enough layers, and it ended up looking like a triangle."<p>

Ruto nods in understanding. "My cousin Lulu is like that. You and her definitely need to go for that circular look," she says, sipping on some wine. I glance at Sheik, but his expression is unreadable to me. Nevermind, maybe there isn't a sibling bond there. I kick his shin lightly to signal him to talk to her as Ruto gushes at me about "how I got that down" or something or other about my hair.

Sheik gets the hint and takes the initiative to pull Ruto away from the dull subject of hair, thank the goddesses.

"So Zelda," the stuffed shirt says, turning to me as Ruto and Sheik begin to chat with each other. He's kind of ugly in my opinion, but maybe that's just me. Sheik's even handsomer than this guy. That's saying something. Well, in my opinion. I try not laugh at his strange pompadour of a hair style as he informs me, "I hear from Sheik that you run a bakery."

"I do," I say lightly as a waiter drops by to take my and Sheik's drink orders. We give him that, and order food. I don't know what I'm getting, I just told the waiter to get me whatever it is Sheik's getting. Probably a mistake. I hope it's nothing too exotic for my taste. If there's one thing I know about Sheik, it's that he has this need to taste anything and everything new and different.

He nods, an awkward silence between us. At least Sheik and Ruto are getting along. Oh yes, dear brother, you so owe me for this.

The shirt says to me, "So, business doing well?"

"Yeah, actually," I say. "Much smoother now that I have a new employee."

This apparently catches Sheik's ear, and interrupting, he asks, "What? When?"

"Like back in August, stupid," I tell him, a fight brewing between us. "I told you what happened with Ingo and how I got this new guy."

"No, you didn't," he says hotly, an amused look on the woman's face beside him.

I spit at him, "You forgot."

But instead of continuing to bicker, we just laugh it off.

Ruto asks me, "What's his name?"

"Link," I say. "He's from Ordon."

"That's a lovely place," Ruto says conversationally as I glance out the corner of my eye. The shirt seems a little miffed as he drinks his wine. I feel a secret surge of pleasure. Take that!

The waiter pops by the table and fills Sheik's and my wine glasses. Red. Ugh. Maybe I shouldn't have said I'd have what Sheik's having. Whatever. He's buying my beer later.

Sheik and Ruto go back to whatever it was they were talking about, and Pompadour next to me tries to get my attention again. I give him a look over. He's built, a real meathead compared to lanky Link. He asks me, "So what do you like to do?" Do you ever start a conversation without the word "so"?

"I enjoy spending my nights alone watching documentaries on TV," I say, remembering exactly what Sheik asked me not to do. "I like to drink beer while doing so, Woodchucks usually. My favorite shows include documentaries on the deep sea and ancient Hylian weapons. Did you know they still haven't found a live giant octork?"

The shirt shakes his head.

"My favorite sea creature is the sea cucumber," I tell Pompadour, "and they're-"

Sheik kicks my leg this time. Fine.

"I'm sorry," I say, and shoot Pompadour a fake smile. "I'm rambling."

Pompadour is surprisingly not turned off by my love of sea cucumbers. What a trooper. He begins talking about… well, something, because I'm obviously not paying any attention to him. I nod and add a little "Mm-hm" at what I feel like are appropriate times, all the while I'm people watching from seat.

Oh ho! Don't think I did not see you flick part of your salad on the floor, lady.

The waiter drops off our own salads, and eager to do something other than talking to the shirt, I start to fill my mouth with as much lettuce and dressing as I can. I still nod every now and then, just to keep up appearances as my eyes slide around the room.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.

Nobody's really interesting tonight. All pish-posh and everything. Not much of a show, unfortunately. Come on! Somebody pick their nose or something! Of course, I'm never at a place where somebody decides to do a break up at either. Bummer. I glance back at the shirt giving him a little nod and smile, putting on a show for my brother who is either too busy with Ruto or approves of my behavior. I hope it's the latter. That way I won't have to hear about it later.

I take one last look around, and then I spot something. There's a flash of orange. Not even caring what Pompadour thinks, I crane my neck and sure enough, I spot a redheaded woman. "Ah, I'm sorry," I tell him. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" But I don't wait for a response and bolt up from the table to make my way over to the ginger.

I walk up to her table, and she looks up at me in surprise. A huge smile breaks out on her face. "Zelda!" she exclaims and gets up from the table to wrap me in a hug. Or death squeeze. Whichever way you want to look at it. "How are you? I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Hey Malon," I laugh, patting her back before she pulls away. "I'm doing okay."

"What are you doing here?"

"My brother needed me to come as a date for some chick's friend," I explain briefly. Malon, not so inconspicuously looks around the room for Sheik. Spotting him, she takes a look at the table and grimaces. "Terrible, right?" I giggle.

"Oh," she says softly. "Bathroom, now." Malon grabs hold of my wrist and drags me off.

"So may I ask what your ass is doing here tonight?" I ask Malon as we enter the women's restroom. She pulls me down to sit on a bench by the sinks, quickly glances for feet under the stall doors. "Nobody's here," I say, reading her mind again.

She laughs. "I'm here with my cousins. Just a quick get together to catch up. See how the ranches are doing."

"Business and family time," I say. "Nice."

She chuckles. "Cremia's something else. She's in town from Termina for the week to visit Romani here. I figured I could make a trip out to Kakariko to see them both." Malon claps her hands. "So! You have to tell me, what's the deal with you and that dude?"

"Ew," I sputter out, immediately uncomfortable. "Nothing. I don't even remember his name."

Malon snorts. "I'm sorry."

"I like to refer to him as 'Pompadour'. I think it suits him."

She smiles at me. "What have you done to him?"

"I only told him I'm a loner and kind of an alcoholic. I also told him I spend my free time learning about the wonders of sea cucumbers."

Malon shakes her head at me. "You're terrible," she says. "You'll never find anybody that way, you frigid beast."

"I don't eat men alive at least," I say, frowning and remembering that my phone went off at the table, I pull it out of my pocket to check it.

"It's alright," Malon says airily, patting my shoulder. "I know you just bake them into your cakes."

I snort at her comment, and read the text message I received. There's a picture attached, and I see Link with the goofiest look plastered on his face holding on a plate a mountain of cake, pudding, cookies and icing in his hands. It's a total mess. There's another guy in the picture I don't recognize sitting off to the side at the table Link stands behind, laughing and having a good time as well. The table's littered with cooking supplies and empty bottles of alcohol.

i.e. Link is having a much more fabulous night than me.

I'm jelly.

I scroll down and read the message.

_I can decorate the cakes now, right? ;3_

I howl, and show Malon, who laughs as well.

"Who is _that_?" she asks me.

"That's Link," I say, and then suddenly my face flushes as I remember him in nothing but boxers in the dream I had this morning. Oh Nayru. Why?

Malon hoots at me. "You're blushing," she points out. Yeah! I can't feel that at all! Nor can I feel the impending embarrassment to follow.

"I kind of uh… had a weird dream about him this morning," I admit to her as my phone vibrates again.

_Please? :) :( :) :( :)_

Malon leans into my shoulder and laughs. "He seems silly," she comments.

"He's like a little kid, I swear," I grumble to her. "Having him working for me is like me babysitting him."

"But you liiike him," Malon teases.

I instantly sputter out, "I do not!"

Malon shrugs. "Fine," she says as I text Link back.

_No. I'm at dinner with my brother, his date and some idiot. Save me. You look like you're having way more fun._

"What?" Malon exclaims. "I'm not good enough for you?" she says, feigning shock as a woman enters the restroom with a face that clearly says, "What the hell is their problem?"

"I can't hide out with you in the restroom forever," I tell her.

_:c Fine. But you can swing by after if you want. Knil says he doesn't mind._

_ Good, because I think my bro's going to ditch me to pork his date, and I do not want to be stuck with the idiot! I'll call you after I get out of my hellhole._

_ Aigh, captain!_

"I should get back to my table," I tell Malon, getting up and smoothing out my dress. "Sheik's probably pissed." I also think that the woman in the stall probably feels uncomfortable by us. She's been in that stall for a while. Might as well let her piss in peace.

Malon shrugs. "You have to tell me about your 'weird dream' later," she insists, rising as well. She shakes out her long red hair.

"No way!" I holler as she opens the door and shushes me.

She hisses, "You must!" She gives me a stern look before her face brightens. "Call me!" she says cheerily and leaves me at the restroom door.

And I'm left to go back to Pompadour and my doom.

After dinner, I pull Sheik to the side. I pull him by the collar of his shirt, and whisper to him, "Dude, I'm out."

"What?" He pulls back. "Why? What about drinks?"

"You and Ruto seem to be hitting it off. Go pork her or whatever you were complaining about," I tell him. "I just can't stand Pompadour."

"Pompadour?"

"The shirt."

"Oh." Then Sheik laughs. "I gotcha. It's Groose, by the way."

"Whatever," I say, waving him off. "I'm out. Make up an excuse for me."

"How are you going to get home?"

"I'll call a friend," I say, purposely avoiding naming Link. I can just see Sheik teasing me now like Malon did. "Just let me get my keys."

"Okay."

Sheik jogs over to Pompadour and Ruto and speaks with them before jogging back over to my side. We walk back to his car and he lets me retrieve my keys. He slides into the driver's seat and asks, "You sure you'll be fine?"

"I should be."

"Okay," he says. Is that a look of worry? "You can call me if you need me."

"Don't pull that crap on me," I snap, and then Sheik's face lightens up.

Before I can slam the door to his car shut, he says, "Hey Zel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Sure."

"Drinks Sunday," he commands, and I nod and close the door.

He backs out of the parking space and drives off to where ever he's meeting Ruto next. I pull out my phone from my jacket as I walk back to the entrance of the restaurant. The door opens, and I spy Malon coming out. Quickly, I run over to meet her.

"Malon!" I call.

She smiles at me. "Hello hello again," she greets me.

"I need a ride to Sheik's place. Can you give me a lift?"

She opens her mouth, and then she smiles slyly at me. "Sure," she agrees. A red eyebrow pokes up. "But I have a condition." Uh-oh. "You have to tell me about that Link guy. I'm interested."

I groan. "Fine!" I swear everybody's out to embarrass the crap out of me today. "Do you mind if we stop somewhere? I want to get some pop or coffee. I need some caffeine," I tell her as we walk over to her truck.

The truck doors click as the Malon unlocks it and we both hop in. The truck revs to life as Malon shoves the clutch in and turns the key. She puts the truck in gear, and Malon pulls us out of the parking lot, saying, "So. Link. What's the deal since Pompadour ain't happenin'?"

"He's my employee," I remind her flatly.

She gives me a small "Psh" before slapping my shoulder with one hand.

"Two hands!" I shout, and Malon slaps her hand back onto the gear knob and shoves the truck into third gear. The truck lurches a little. "You don't have to be like that," I tell her.

"Tell me!" Malon exclaims. "Or I will make you sick jerking my truck."

"Like uh," I hesitate. How the fuck am I going to put this? "I had a dream that we were in a bed together and he was like half-naked."

"What!" Malon shouts. I do not hold favor with the heavens today. Nope. "So you like had a girly wet dream?"

"What?" I exclaim. Oh jeez, my fucking head must be a damn tomato by now. "It was nothing like that!"

Malon whistles as we pull up at a drive thru. "What d'ya want?" she asks.

"Eh. Anything with caffeine."

Malon orders a large cup of pop for me, and as we pull around she tells me cheekily, "I wouldn't mind dreaming about someone like him half-naked."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," I mumble to myself pulling out my wallet from my jacket.

Malon laughs, "It's alright. I won't tell him." I sigh to myself, but any relief I could have possibly felt is thrown out the window with my money as Malon adds, "Until I find him on Facebook." My jaw drops as she hands me my drink and then thanks the drive thru clerk.

"You can't tell him!" She just giggles away. "Malon! Don't be a bitch!"

She snickers, "So if it wasn't like that, what happened?"

"He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't understand him," I tell her, poking my straw into the cup. "He got up and left the room we were in, and then I started calling for him to come back, but he wouldn't answer."

"Huh."

"So like, I woke up to my alarm freaking out that he wandered off like the dumbass he is and got himself lost," I tell her. "But then somehow, my thoughts got to that he was like kidnapped or something, and then I really started freaking out until realized I was just fucking dreaming all that shit." Malon chuckles at this. "I'm for real, Malon. You cannot tell him!"

"Alright, alright," she laughs. "I won't," she promises.

I suck on my drink. Malon shifts gears, but this time with more grace. I wouldn't have noticed it unless I saw her move the gear shift.

"We're going to Sheik's place, right?"

"Yeah, my car's there," I say.

We stay silent the rest of the way until we make it back to Sheik's condo. I thank Malon for the ride, and she waves heartily at me, telling me, "Call me sometime! We'll do dinner, or lunch on your day off!"

"I will," I promise her. "Next week okay?"

She nods, "Just call me."

I wave her goodbye as she drives off.

Getting in my car, I pull my phone out and call Link. It buzzes annoyingly in my ear until I hear him go, "Hello?"

"Hey," I say, not realizing how awkward a phone call with Link would be. Until this point, we'd never spoken on the phone. "What're you doing?"

"Sitting," he shortly. Then he laughs. Another voice sounds in the background, it's deep and muffled. "I'm at my house."

I chuckle. "I kind of figured that. But who's Knil?"

"Oh, that's my roommate." Pause. "You coming over?"

"Yeah. I don't know where you live though, stupid," I say.

Link chuckles. "Okay. Well um… where are you?"

**…**

Never again, will I ask Link for directions. Apparently, he doesn't know any of the street names in Kakariko, just the most obscure landmarks. He's one of those people that when giving directions will tell you, "Yeah, if pass that such-and-such, you've gone too far," and you'll turn your head, see that landmark and go "FUCK."

I fucking hate you, Link.

But somehow, I've made it to his house, a one story rancher about a mile and a half from the bakery, after going home and getting a change of clothes. I park my car in the driveway. There's a light on the front door, illuminating the porch, but the front rooms are all dark. If I couldn't see the way light filters in from the back of the house, I would think I've gone to the wrong place. I hesitantly make my way up the walkway to the porch, sliding my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and I stop at the door, unsure of whether to just open it and walk in or ring the doorbell.

Shrugging to myself, I pull open the screen door before pushing the front door itself open and walking in. Shutting the door, I take a look around the room and in the darkness, I can see instruments everywhere.

Heavy footfalls sound from the lit room, and I hear Link call, "Zellie!" I walk through the doorway and into a kitchen where a guy with short dark hair sits at the table, doodling on some paper. The remains of their baking creation still sit on the table among the dishes. I look over and see Link at the sink.

"Hey," I say, suddenly shy.

"Heya. This is Knil," Link says, turning around and pointing at the other guy. He jokes, "How was your date?"

"Terrible," I tell him as he opens the refrigerator and hands me a beer.

"Knil! Where's the bottle opener?" Link asks, and Knil silently picks it up and tosses it at him. I hold the bottle steady as Link pops the cap off and tosses it into a glass pitcher on a baker's rack in the corner of the kitchen. The large pitcher is about halfway full of bottle caps.

"Got a collection going, I see," I comment idly.

Link laughs, "It's a long time in the making."

Knil mumbles something, but Link seems to catch on and he laughs, agreeing to whatever it was. "Pass me one," Knil says, louder this time, and Link grabs him a beer as well. "Zelda," Knil calls to me, "Come have some of our mountain of baking glory."

I giggle softly. "Sure. Where's a spoon?" I ask as I pull out a chair at the table.

Link digs around in a drawer and hands me one and sits down next to me. "This is like," he pauses, "the best thing ever created."

I snicker as I stick my spoon into the dessert mountain and take a bite. It's a mouthful of pudding and cake, but no cookies yet. "Pretty good," I say. "Just need to work on your presentation there."

Link laughs and digs his spoon into the mountain. "Knil! You gonna eat this or what man?"

Knil smiles and shakes his head. "Nah. I think I'm going to head to bed after this drink."

"Right when we could start a party?" Link pouts. "Mido already left."

"Eh," he says, "I'm not really up for it right now."

Link chuckles, "Fine. Be as big of a grouch as Mido."

"You and Zelda can party all you want. Just don't mix my whiskey with anything. That's single malt," Knil says.

"The good stuff!" Link and Knil share a laugh before Link proclaims with much bravado that he had to take a leak. I watch as he swaggers off into the hallway to the bathroom.

I continue to make a dent in the dessert mountain, unsure of what to say to Knil. But then I don't really have to when he all of a sudden says quietly to me, "So you're the one who turns my quiet roomie into a chatterbox."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's usually a really quiet guy, but when he comes home and talks about you and work, I can't get him to shut up," he says softly so as Link won't overhear in the bathroom just halfway down the hall.

I snort, laughing into my spoonful of pudding. Some of it accidentally sprays and we both start giggling.

"So quit being so attractive," Knil quietly says to me and gets up from the table, his beer in hand. He slaps my shoulder. "Nice meeting you." He waves, not looking back as he walks down the hall to his bedroom and closes the door.

I lean back over the table and take a swig of my beer and another spoonful of dessert when a door opens and Link shuffles back into the kitchen.

"He go to bed already?" Link asks sitting back down in his chair.

"Yup."

"Fuck."

I smirk at him. "Lonely?"

"Kinda."

I prod his leg with my foot. "You have me."

He chuckles some. "Want to watch a movie or something?"

"Sure," I say, getting up.

"Let me throw this in the fridge," Link says, getting up as well. He opens a small pantry next to the hallway and pulls out some saran wrap.

I tell him, "Let me help," and together, we quickly wrap Link's dessert mountain, and he puts it in the fridge. He pulls out a six pack of beer – or the four that's left in the pack after what Knil and I had.

He motions for me to follow him down the hall, and I grab my beer off the kitchen table. Link leads me to the first bedroom in the hall and opens the door. He turns on the light, and I step in and immediately stop. The sudden wave of déjà vu hits me hard. The only furniture in the room is a bed, a dresser with a television on top, a desk with a desktop computer and a small TV tray by the bedside. As Link hops onto his bed and fumbles around in the comforter for the television remote I realize exactly where I've seen this bedroom before.

I saw this room this morning in my dream.

"Something wrong, Zellie?"

* * *

><p>Yes, Knil is Dark Link. I always think to myself that referring to him as just "Dark" was kind of stupid. Lol. I decided to take the liberty and in a fit of creativity, spell Link's name backwards. OH MY GOD. Innovative, right?<p>

That said, after all of you guys commenting on how funny the story has been so far, in disbelief, I actually took the time to go back and reread what I wrote. I actually cracked up a few times myself. Now I know what you guys are talking about. Haha. So I've been considering changing the drama genre to humor, but I don't know. I feel like the second I do that, some major drama llama will come busting through the story.

Anyway, now that this chapter's been posted, my neighbor's family (the one who was building the bomb) is doing well. The wife, son and daughter I didn't realize they had after living next door to them for like four years are all okay. I never ever saw her until this week. I'm serious. And I spend a lot of my time enjoy the outdoors and walking the neighborhood, and never having seen her kind of scares me. My house is literally like at most six feet from theirs (we have tiny lots), and it's still intact, their house hasn't blown up and the other neighbor's house is still there. So now I'm going to spend a few minutes before work craning my neck to look out my window like a nosy neighbor. I got the Navy outside crawling on my lawn.

:O


	5. Nightmares and Euphoria

Zombie Cake

5.0

Nightmares and Euphoria

Kicking off my Chucks – not my checkered shoes – and setting them aside, I tell Link, "No, nothing's wrong." I set my beer down on the TV stand. I climb atop of his bed, and just like in my dream, it's like floating of the soft cotton caresses of Cloud Nine. I must have this mattress! I quickly shake my digressing thoughts away and look over at my shoes.

I have jeans on, yes. A t-shirt and a hoodie with a mushroom on the front – not a cable knitted sweater. And, much more thankfully, my bra is still attached to my chest. My shoes too are different, Chucks, not the checkered slip-ons that I had in my dream. I sigh to myself in relief.

Uncomfortably though, I am on the right side of the bed.

Link says, flinging himself to the foot of the bed, "Hold on, I got another blanket down here." Of course. There's two down there. You, Link, for some crazed reason, find it necessary to own four comforters and then use one as your curtain. I glance over at the window, and, indeed, it is the very same ratty leopard print comforter hanging in front of his window. I think briefly that must be the reason he can't rise before noon as he smiles cheekily at me. He pulls himself back up, booty in hand and tells me, "Here captain."

"Thanks," I mumble, taking the very same comforter that I was under in the dream. Oh gosh. I awkwardly throw an "Um…" and then sputter out, "Move over."

"Huh?" is all Link manages before I throw myself over on his other side and push him aside. "You sure you're okay?" he asks as he shuffles over to the other side of the bed.

I feel my cheeks flush slightly as I say firmly, "Yes," and I quickly cocoon myself in the blanket. Impenetrable! Me gusta. "I just like being next to the wall," I throw out. "You know, in case I'm ever going to get shot by the mafia or something. I'd like to see it coming."

Link laughs and reaches up, shutting off the light on the fan, but the blades still turn. He settles himself in on the right side of the bed. "It's like midnight," Link states. "What do you want to watch?" Then he adds, "I mean, besides the home and garden channel."

I chuckle a little. "Anything," I tell him.

"Well!" he exclaims. "I'm going to find some cartoons." I snort as he begins to flip through channels before he settles on a show. We watch the action figures on the screen play out their spoofs and parody sketches for the next half an hour with me continually sneaking glances over at the idiot to my right, who chuckles every now and then. The idiot, completely unaware of what is going on in the Mind of Zelda. Which is pretty lucky for me and my mind.

I yawn and attempt to cover it with the comforter.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Link chuckles. "There's no way you'll get to bed tomorrow night."

I groan, remembering that staying up late meant fucking staying up.

I demand, "Hand me that fucking beer." Link snickers and complies as I unwrap myself from the safety and warmth of my comforter cocoon. Me cocoonsta no more. I lean back on the wall, as predictably to me, Link's bed is devoid of pillows. Wait. He's supposed to have one. Right? "Do you have a pillow?"

"I think I knocked it on the floor on your side," Link laughs. His laughter is laced with what I can only describe as slight embarrassment, a feeling I can only too well relate to recently. I glance down the space between the bed and wall, and sure enough, a pillow with no case.

I grab the pillow and place it underneath my back. Déjà vu. I take a swig of my beer. "Probably should be a psychic," I mutter to myself, finishing off the beer.

Link says, "What."

"What?"

"What?"

"What!"

We continue to squawk "What!" at each other until Link laughs and rolls on his side, flinging his blanket over him. He just snorts into the mattress.

"Link," I say, poking his exposed shoulder. "You're from Ordon, right?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you leave?"

He rolls back on his backside and says, "Just had to."

"You just felt like packing up all your shit and leaving?"

He shrugs and swivels his head in my direction, blond stalks of straw whipping with him. He says, "Yeah, basically. Minus the pack up all my shit part." He hoots. "I basically threw a bunch of clothes into my car, took my phone and wallet, and then I took off."

"The need to wander?"

Link shakes his head and claims, "The need to adventure!"

"Your family wasn't mad?"

"Well, my sister was," he says lightly. "But she's okay with it now. I think she was just miffed for a long time that I never said goodbye to her."

"You didn't even say goodbye to your family?" I clarify, completely shocked.

Link smiles ruefully at me. "No. I was just sitting at home one day when I just decided to get up and go." His mouth scrunches up, but in the light of the television, I can still see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't really have much of a family anyway. For a long time it's been just my grandma, Aryll and me." Link lets out a harsh laugh. He turns his attention back to the television.

I bump him with my empty bottle, and Link just tosses it on the floor, completely uncaring at the moment for any mess.

"Is that how you got to the Lumpy Pumpkin?" I ask him, remembering how he had owed a debt to the rest stop after shattering their custom chandelier.

He smirks this time. "Yeah." Nostalgia washes his face as he says, "At one point before that though, I was going around and knocking on people's car windows asking for money for gas." The smirk returns briefly, and he shoots me a look before his attention turns back to the show once more. A sigh billows out from Link's lungs as he says, "After I paid off my debt, I called Knil, not really knowing where to go, and he offered to let me squat here for a while."

"You guys get along?"

"Eh," he grunts, shoulders shrugging again. Light dances in his eyes as he watches the television screen. He lets out a chuckle at the show, and then his tongue slides out and licks his lips. He tells me, "Knil and I went to high school together. After we graduated, he wandered off and ended up out here and got a job while I stayed in Ordon and went to community college."

"Terribly routine," I interject.

Link smiles cheekily at me. "It was," he agrees. "I couldn't stand it. I dropped out eventually and bummed around Ordon until I couldn't take it anymore."

"So you never finished?"

"Nope." His cheeks puff out and round as a long grin stretches his lips. "I don't really want to go back. I don't know what I'd do."

"What were you aiming for at least?"

"I was a music theory major," he says. "But I have no idea what I'd do with that. I taught some kids back in Ordon music for a while – it was like pulling teeth. Most of the kids didn't really want to play music; it was just something their parents wanted them to do. I could never figure out how to get them into it." He sniffs. "They didn't want to practice, but then they didn't want to play anything because they thought they weren't good."

"Did you try talking to the parents?"

Link lets out a harsh hoot, saying, "Oh, I tried, but they never seemed to get it either. Sometimes, I think they just wanted a half hour away from their kids."

"Kids can be little shitheads," I say.

Link chuckles, "Definitely."

"What do you play?"

"Anything I can get my hands on." He sniffs again, his nose wrinkling. "I like the ocarina a lot, but my grandmother started me out on piano before I insisted that I wanted to play violin."

I turn my head back to the television, feeling suddenly more connected to my loopy and daydreamer employee. I, of course, left my life behind only after quickly formulating a plan. My mother certainly trained me well in that aspect, but my rash decision to quit my accounting job in the first place was all the impulsiveness I inherited from my father. Deep in my chest, I feel a little spark of envy and admiration for Link.

He had just decided to up and leave one day, not even knowing where he was going, with no more thought than if he were trying to decide between eggs or pancakes for breakfast. The man packed minimally, then got in his car and just drove. He didn't think about what he'd do for money, where he was going to stay, he just drove and drove. He let the road take him wherever.

"I'm a little jealous," I admit to him as a new show starts the hour.

Link's interest piqued, he goes, "Hm?"

The corners of my mouth tug, but I try to resist that urge as I tell him, "I wish I could do that."

"What? Just leave?"

"Yeah."

"You did though, didn't you?"

I shake my head. "Not without planning it out and begging a bunch of different people for money to invest in the bakery." I shrug a shoulder and say, "My mother was the epitome of promptness and plans. It always made me so mad, but she really rubbed it off on me. I hate it." Link shuffles and then rolls back on his side towards me. "I wish I could be more impulsive and just do shit, but she's fucking ingrained in me. I can't usually do something without thinking three steps ahead for all the possible consequences."

"Were you thinking of consequences when you ate the candy I brought for All Hallows' Eve?" Link asks suddenly.

I snort and laugh to myself, a hand flying to my face to cover the grin. "You weren't supposed to know," I tell him. "I was going to buy more to replace it. I swear."

"You did warn me of your inner fatty," he points out, and we both laugh.

I settle myself back into my cocoon as Link pushes himself up and cracks open another beer. We both watch the cartoon in silence for a while.

I break the silence with after a few minutes with, "What the fuck is this shit?"

Link laughs.

There's a young boy on the screen, a typical teenage boy, who has some weird ability to conjure up like a cube of green light or something… "Kekkai"? We watch as he and the heroine, and his obvious love interest, of the show chase after a white fox looking creature through a wooded area. The fox-thing stops and readies itself for attack. It shoots a needle or something at the boy's light-cube-thing… kekkai, effectively shattering it.

"_It tore right through my kekkai_!" the boy thinks aloud on the screen, apparently completely astonished at such a feat.

Link snorts, beer shooting from him. "Tore a hole right through my kekkai!" Link exclaims in a high, mocking voice, and we both burst into fits of giggles.

I say, "Damn, shoulda made another one."

"Oh _shiiit_, gotta make another one," Link says in the same voice.

I tell Link, "I was watching this shark show once, and they were talking about these sharks that live by a cluster of islands not far off from Outset Island." I lick my lips. "Those motherfuckers actually _jump_ out of the water to attack their prey. You should have seen them!" I say excitedly as Link chuckles. "Like they all of a sudden fly out of the water and latch onto a seal! Tore a hole right through that seal's kekkai."

"Damn," Link whispers. "He shoulda made another one."

"Shoulda," I say flatly. "All six to eight hundred of them."

Link asks, "Want another one?"

"I think my kekkai's intact. We're on dry land, far away from sharks," I reply.

He chuckles softly, saying, "I meant a beer."

"Sure." Link pops the cap off a bottle and hands it to me as I sit myself up on the bed beside him. I ask, hesitant for an answer, "Link, what happened with your parents?"

His face hardens a little, and replies simply, "Dead." His lips purse briefly for a moment. "I always worked hard to take care of my grandmother and Aryll with them gone. Like the second I could, I went out got a permit from my school to go work." He pauses, thinking. "Of course, I wasn't exactly doing that when I took off, but I send them money now. The months that I spent just wandering around Hyrule and the time after I left the Lumpy Pumpkin until I met you have been the only times I haven't held a job since I was fourteen."

"How old is Aryll?"

"Almost eighteen. February," he says airily. "She's a senior now."

"Is she going to go to school?"

Link shrugs. "I never asked, but I hope she does." He takes a swig of his own beer, and then he says, "I don't really want her to end up like me."

I don't ask him to elaborate and instead ask him to change the channel. "Or what about that movie?"

"Movie?" Link asks. I snicker. He obviously forgot. Moron.

I say, "Nevermind."

Link's steady breathing sounds through the noises of the television as if each breath parted the sound waves. I smack his arm lightly, and he looks over at me a little startled, the soft pattern interrupted. I don't say anything, just hand him back my bottle. He slaps it on the TV tray, and I revel in the sound of swift bellows beside me as they begin to regulate once more.

I can't help but ask Link, "Did you ever do anything you regret?" It's obvious, of course, that the question is directed more in if he regretted just upping and leaving.

But Link, good ol' Link replies with chipper, "Sure. I watched a whole season of Hylian Idol once."

Oh gosh. Link.

"Seriously."

"Do you know how bad that was?" His head whips towards me. A look of complete seriousness is on his face. Serious to evade my real question. I know he can't be _that _oblivious! Wait. "Like, damn. They booted this chick Lulu off half way through the season."

I sigh. "She should have stayed?"

He scoffs. "It's like people don't have ears or something."

I shake my head to myself and settle back down on the bed as the screen illuminates us in blue light briefly. Pictures of a gold coin flash on the screen. The voice over pitchman describes the imprinted image of a wolf on one side and the bust of a former monarch.

"Oh shit, Link," I say, nudging his arm as the coin's gold content is described.

"0.9999 – that's four nines-!"

"See? 0.9999. Four nines, Link!" I exclaim, slapping his leg with enthusiasm. "Come on. That's like legit right there."

Link sniffs. "And that fifty rupee coin only costs 10 rupees!" he interjects. "Such a deal! I can't pass it up."

"Four nines!"

"Where's your phone?" Link asks me.

I say, stuffing my hand under my weight, "In my back pocket. Hold on." I wiggle my phone out and hand it to him. "What do you need it for?"

"There's only a five limit per caller," he informs me snobbishly.

I blanch. "Oh! We'd better get ours then. I mean, four nines!"

"I got them on the phone."

Wait. What? "You called them?"

"Hell yeah, I am," he says, my phone to his ear. The comforter goes flying as Link throws it off of him to pat his pants pockets and search the bed. "Shit, where'd I put my wallet?"

I slap my hands to my face. "You're seriously going to buy one?"

"If I can find my wallet."

I peek through my fingers as the gold coin with the wolf and monarch on it turns stylishly on screen. 0.9999, Zelda!

It's going to be a long night.

**…**

Link ended up falling asleep towards the early morning, just as the sun started to poke through the sky and the cracks around the comforter hanging from Link's bedroom window. Not wanting to wake him right away, I leave him there to take a quick nap when I hear Knil stir outside Link's bedroom.

He looks gruffly at me. Knil asks me, his voice rough from sleep, "Morning. You hungry?"

"Yes," I say, stifling a yawn with my hand. "I could use a bite to eat. Maybe some coffee, if you have it."

Knil snickers, dark eyes flashing at me. "I could do the same," he says. "Check the pantry, we got cereal. I'll get the coffee going."

"Okay," I say lightly, and I turn around to open the pantry. I look around briefly before I find some, and the difference between whose cereal is whose is quite clear. "I can tell which ones are Link's," I giggle, and Knil snorts out a "Ha!" as I try to pick through. Knil has the more obvious adult choices of whole grains and wheat cereal, but sitting right next those are Link's childish sugar rushes of whole wheat and colorful marshmallows as well as puffs of chocolate and peanut butter. Not wanting to intrude too much on Knil, I go for the kiddie sugar rush. Besides, who wouldn't want a marshmallow or two on the bright?

I grab the box of Link's cereal and shut the pantry. I turn and see Knil holding out a bowl with a spoon in it for me. "Thank you," I tell him, taking them from him. "Milk in the fridge?"

"Yeah, go for it," he says, and then lets loose a large yawn.

I place the bowl and cereal down on the table before digging into the fridge for some milk. Grabbing the milk from its place on the fridge shelf, I tell Knil, "Link tried to buy this fifty rupee gold coin last night."

Knil chuckles, shoulders jerking as he starts the coffee maker. "What?"

"It was like ten rupees," I say, shutting the fridge. I start to crack, laughter lacing my words. "Like, he even had them on the phone, but then he couldn't find his wallet."

Knil cackles, "Probably a good thing. He wouldn't remember a drunken purchase." Knil steps purposely towards the pantry to pick out his breakfast as I sit down at the table to make up my cereal bowl. "It'd show up on our doorstep three weeks from now, and he wouldn't understand why anyone would send him a fucking gold coin."

Knil settles down across from me at the table and begins tossing his own cereal into a bowl before grabbing the milk. He smirks at me, seeing my own choice of cereal. "Some days, when he has the time, Link likes to pick out and eat all the actual cereal so all that's left is the marshmallows."

"Does he eat them?" I ask, a little confused. "Because he could just have yours, and it's the same thing."

"No," Knil says, smiling and shaking his head. "That's the whole point. He hates the cereal part, so eats it all first so what he's left is a bowl of marshmallow and milk. Then he goes for the jugular." He slaps the milk gallon back on the table. "His grandma used to get so mad at him when we were kids, because he used to go through the box and eat all the marshmallows and then all that would be left was the actual cereal. Then he wouldn't eat it, of course."

Milk dribbles down my chin as I laugh into my spoonful of cereal.

"Here, paper towel," Knil says passing me the roll that was left on the table.

I pull one off of the roll and set it down. Wiping my chin, I say, "Thanks."

The coffee machine gurgles on the other side of the kitchen. The smell of the roast is getting more potent.

"His mom," Knil begins, and I immediately perk up to listen, "never wanted to buy that cereal you're eating."

"Because all he wanted was the marshmallows?"

Knil laughs, "Exactly." Knil eats a few spoonfuls thoughtfully. "Did he fall asleep?"

"Yeah," I say. "Not long ago. I figured I let him sleep a little."

"Don't let him sleep too long, or you'll never get him up," Knil advises.

**…**

Oh no! I can't believe I lost that idiot!

I look frantically around me, but see nothing that closely resembles Link. Shit. I need to find him! I groan in frustration at my current predicament and hurry up the white stairs with stainless steel railings. I skitter down the hall, hoping that he'll show up. I don't know what I'm going to do if I don't find that moron.

I turn around a corner and see a girl with her head on fire. "Malon!" I call, and she whips around, flames swirling with her.

"Zelda!" she hollers back happily, scratching at her scalp through her bright red hair. "What're you doing here?"

"I can't find Link!" I tell her exasperatedly.

Red eyebrows knit together, and the corners of Malon's mouth slide down. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says with apologetic blue eyes.

I flap my hands, urging Malon to hurry it up. "Have you seen him?" I spit out.

"No," she says, shaking her head sadly. "I'm sorry. Uli was asking for you though."

"Uli?"

"Oh you know," Malon says airily. Her worried expression is quickly wiped from her face as her eyes close, her eyebrows raise. She swats at the air with her hand. "Rusl's wife."

"What?"

"Rusl. Link's older friend. The police guy?" This time her brow scrunches in confusion. How could I _not_ know Rusl and Uli? Of course! Gosh Zelda, you're an idiot. You and Link, the perfect idiot pair, right? Malon just waves it off. "Don't worry; I'm sure you'll recognize them when you see them."

"Alright," I say. "Thanks Malon."

And then I'm off again on my search for Link.

But I'm stopped abruptly once more. "_Shit_!" I scream. "I forgot about the appointment!" I then quickly change my path and head down another white hall, blue light illuminating from the end. I rush down the set of five stairs to the man in the white coat. He pushes up his glasses as he spins to face me on his stool. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot!" I say, running up to him.

He smiles kindly. "That's quite alright. You're here now." He gestures for me to lie down on the patient table next to him and a machine. "Take a seat and lie back," he says softly. "Let's see what we got going on."

"Okay," I say, and climb up on the table and lean back.

"Lift up your shirt," he says as he puts on some gloves. Then he warns me, "This might be a little cold." The doctor squeezes a clear, light blue gel onto my flat stomach, and then, taking a small handle with a circular piece of metal on the end, he spreads the gel around. I shiver, cold chills from the gel making their way up my body. He turns his attention to the screen on the machine as he slides the metal and gel around my stomach.

Finally, the doctor turns back to me and smiles. "Well, everything looks okay. Have you been eating right? Taking all your vitamins?" He wipes off the goop on my stomach.

What?

_What_?

What vitamins?

"What?" I ask stupidly. It's all I can manage.

He frowns. "It's very important to take care of yourself for the baby."

"I have to find Link!" I blurt, and bolt from the white room and back down the white halls towards where I met Malon before.

Suddenly, I feel my phone in my back pocket vibrate angrily. I stuff my hand in my pocket and retrieve it. I answer it with a timid, "Hello?"

A bright and cheery voice responds to my meager greeting. "Zelda! How are you?"

"Uli!" I shout into the phone ecstatic, instantly recognizing the high pitch of her voice. "I was going to call you!"

"Really?" she asks.

"Yes!" I exclaim. "Uli! You're still going to take my baby, right?"

There's a pause. "Oh, I'm sorry, Zelda," she says cheerfully. "I already have one!"

"What?"

"Oh yeah, she's adorable!" Uli gushes on the other end of the line.

I hang up.

_Fucking shit_. What am I going to do? Oh Nayru! I can't take care of it!

I look up and see Malon turn a corner, and I hurry to follow her down the winding white walls and halls. Following her is a little hard though when I have a globe for a stomach. "Malon!" I shout out, waddling after her and struggling to keep up. "Malon!"

Malon hears me calling for her, and she back tracks until she sees me.

"Zelda!" she calls, concern written on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Malon! What am I going to do?" I cry. "I'm such a horrible person! I haven't done anything!"

"Oh, it's okay," Malon laughs.

"No, it's not!"

Malon switches gears. "Have you found Link yet?" she asks.

Oh Goddesses! I was supposed to be looking for him. Oh! What'll he say? What if he doesn't want it? Oh no! What am I going to do? Uli was supposed to take it.

"Malon!"

Malon shrugs and walks away.

"Oh fuck!" I shout. I bolt up at the prickle on my right hand and immediately scramble for my phone. Where is it? I throw blankets and pillows and find it sitting on my nightstand on its charger. I immediately yank my phone off its cord and call Link.

My breath shakes as the phone rings in my ear. I wait and wait and wait. And then it stops. My breath hitches in my chest. "You have reached the voicemail box of-"

I hang up and call again.

My legs shake as the phone rings again. And again and again and agin.

"You have reach-"

I dial a third time, chewing my tongue.

"You have-"

_Beep_.

My fingers shaking, I call Malon. My gut wretches as the phone goes off on that godsdamned ringing! Malon pick up! Pick up! Pick up!

A groggy "Hello?" reaches my ear.

"Malon!"

"Dear Din, Zelda," Malon groans. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Malon! I don't know what to do! I can't find Link, and he's not answering my calls!" I wail. "I don't want it! I'm such a horrible, horrible person! I really, really am!"

I sniff through my sobs before Malon responds, "Um… it's alright?"

"It's not though! Uli was supposed to take it!"

"What?"

"Yeah! Uli! She was going to take it, but when I talked to her she said she already has one and doesn't want it!" I sob into the phone. I sniff, snot clogging my nose. "I mean, I haven't even done anything for it! What kind of mother am I?"

"What?" Malon repeats. "Zelda, what the fuck are you talking about? Who the hell's Uli?"

"The baby!" I shout. "She was going to take it!"

"What?"

"You know," I say, at the end of my rope. "Uli. Rusl's wife? Police guy? She was going to take the baby!"

"Uh… what?"

"Malon, I don't know what I'm going to do!" I sniff. "I haven't even done anything! It's been like seven months, and I never got any prenatal care! What kind of mother does that?"

"What? You're pregnant?"

"Yes!" How can she not know that's what I'm talking about? It's not like I've been carrying around a basketball under my shirt for months for Din's sake!

"Whaaat? Since when?" she asks. "Like, less than a week ago you were totally denying you had the hots for Link. Who else is there?"

"Malon! I've been pregnant for months!" I scream. "How could you not notice?"

She sighs. "Well, considering I saw you less than a week ago and you were skinny as ever and trying to hide how you drool after your employee, I was pretty sure you hadn't been hopping in bed with anybody in a while."

"Malon! I have like… rotundo-belly!"

"What?"

"It's like I'm a _fucking globe_!"

"Whoa," she interjects. "You're not fat, if that's what you want me to tell you."

"Of course I'm fat!" I holler. "I'm seven months pregnant! Who isn't fat by that point?"

"Zelda."

"What!"

"I'm going to go. Calm down and call me back when it's not four am. I just got back out to the ranch last night. I need sleep."

"What! It's four am?" I yelp, grabbing my bedside clock. And indeed, little digits spelled out "4.03". "Oh no! I'm going to be late for the morning bake!"

"Zelda!" Malon screams into my ear. "It's Monday, calm down. You're closed Mondays. Honestly. Call me back when you've gotten back on your rocker."

And the line goes dead.

Okay. So I don't have to worry about the morning bake. But what the fuck am I going to do when I find Link? I can't face him with this beach ball belly! I don't even know what I'm going to do! What if because I didn't get any prenatal care it ends up underweight, mentally retarded or disfigured? It'll be all my fault!

I slap my hands to my stomach.

Flat.

_It's fucking flat_.

I pat my stomach, as if expect it to suddenly inflate. But it doesn't. My stomach is flat and normal and just as it's always been.

My eyes widen.

Oh gosh. I really owe Malon an apology and a really embarrassing explanation.

Still.

Who the hell _is_ Uli?

**…**

Sheik hoots on the other end of the line before going off on a straight _cackle_. I groan. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to call him. He's still laughing at me when he says, "Man, you should really watch what you eat before bed." Sheik snickers and says slyly, "Wasn't that what the doctor told you anyway?"

"Quit teasing me!" I whine. "Don't forget, I was your wingman just last week!"

"No," Sheik hoots. I'm sure he's at the point of tears. I hate him. "This is just too good. Oh man! You really believed you were pregnant?"

"It seriously felt like it!" I sputter into the phone. "Like! When I woke up, I thought and felt like I had this huge stomach. I told Malon I had a 'rotundo-belly'!"

"Oh, that's just rich," Sheik says smoothly.

There's a pause between us.

I huff.

"Sooo…" Sheik trails. "Did you tell Daddy Link?"

"What?" I exclaim.

"What do you mean 'what'?" he retorts.

"What makes you think Link was the father?" I ask him.

"You were looking for him, right?"

I spit, "Yeah, I guess."

"And weren't you worried about him seeing… what was it? Your 'rotundo-belly'?" Sheik pokes at me. What an insufferable ass.

I groan. "You can call it a beach ball."

"For shame," he says harshly. "That's a child there. How can you objectify a child? Really, Zelda, I thought you had much more class."

"I thought the same of you, brother dear."

"Oh! So you do admit I'm your brother!"

I sniff and pinch the bridge of my nose. I groan, "I'm never going to live this down. I shouldn't have told you."

I hear Sheik chuckle lightly. "Yeah, you might have been a little better off calling Malon and apologizing." Then: "Just a wee bit. Just a little."

"I still have to do that," I say, referring to the apology. "Eventually."

"You know, when the embarrassment finally wears off," Sheik airily says, "in your next lifetime. Hopefully."

"You're an arrogant ass."

"Love you, Sis!"

I hang up on him.

_Damn_.

* * *

><p>I had that dream a couple years ago when I was nineteen. Like, I woke up feeling like scum of the earth because I didn't take care of the baby. I seriously thought I had a huge belly and was pregnant. I felt terrible, because I started thinking that if the kid was messed up because I didn't take care of myself properly and I put it up for adoption, no one would want it. It was godawful. It took me like twenty minutes to realize I wasn't pregnant. Lol.<p>

xD


	6. Hot Water and Forty Feet Under

Zombie Cake

6.0

Hot Water and Forty Feet Under

My phone roars and rages from my nightstand. Well shit! Right when I was getting some good reading done. And ignoring my need to apologize to Malon for my freak out on her. But really, Phone? I think I've been humiliated enough by my conversation with Sheik. I groan, roll over and yank the phone from its spot as it spits music out at me. I answer it, "Hello?" and toss my book to the side.

"Zellie?" Link. _Dammit_ Link, can you for once just stay away from me when you've unwittingly embarrassed the shit out of me? As if not taking care of your bastard child wasn't enough…

"What is it, Link?" I reply grumpily.

My stomach gurgles.

"I was just on my way back from Malo Mart," he tells me, not even noticing my grouchy tone, "and there's this woman that's like… inspecting the bakery. Were we supposed to have an order ready today or something?"

"What?" I blurt, bolting up on my bed. "No! We don't have any orders due today."

"Yeah," he replies uncertainly. "Well, she's like wearing a suit and peeking in all the windows. She just went around back."

Whaaat? What in the world?

I spit out, "You're shittin' me."

"I'm not! Like- oh! She's coming back!"

"What's she look like?"

"Uh… Really tan, brown… reddish hair?" he trails, his voice pitching upwards at the end. Oh yeah, Link, that sounds really convincing. "Kind of tall."

"No coat?"

"Huh?" Pause. "No… just her suit jacket." I can almost see him rubbing the back of his neck as he blankly gropes for words. Idiot. "I think she's pulling out a cell phone," Link says slowly. Then: "Yeah! She's calling somebody."

"This is weird."

"Why'd you ask if she had a coat?"

"Health inspector," I say shortly. "Is she still poking around the shop?"

"No," Link says. "She's walking away now."

The skin on my hand begins to prickle. I absently scratch at the back of my right hand, my phone cradled between my ear and shoulder. "I have no idea who'd want to be poking around the bakery," I tell him honestly, the itch on my hand subsiding for the moment. "I have a feeling though that she might be back."

I say, "I'll give Impa a call, alright?"

"Let me know what's up?"

"Sure," I grumble. "I'll talk to you later."

"Aight, Captain!" Link calls gaily.

The phone beeps merrily, signifying the end of our conversation, and I hastily back track through the menu options to call Impa. The phone grumbles wearily in my ear until Impa picks up.

"Hello?"

"Impa!" I exclaim. "It's Zelda."

"Zelda!" her worn voice calls into my ear warmly. "If it's about your check, I got it; you're all caught up on your rent."

"It's not about the rent," I say quickly. "Link just called me to tell me that there was someone poking around the building. Did you know anything about it?"

There's a pause before Impa responds. "I hadn't heard anything," she tells me slowly. "What do you mean by 'poking around' anyway?"

"He was saying that she was walking all around the building for some reason and looking into the windows."

Impa says, "That is a little strange. Huh. If I hear anything, I'll let you know. Okay?"

"Alright," I tell her, getting up from my bed. I slide my checkered shoes on as I say, "Thank you, Impa."

"No problem, dear," she says lightly. "Are you going to check up on the bakery?"

"Yeah," I say, walking out of my bedroom. "I just have to call Link back."

"Okay. I'll let you go."

"Bye, Impa!" I chirp and hit the end button.

I slide my phone into my back pocket and check the other for my wallet. It's there. Good. I head to the front door and grab my jacket off the coat rack and slide it on. As I open the door, I grab hold of my keys from the bowl next to it and head out into the early afternoon sunshine. A light autumn breeze wafts its way through my yard as I head over to my car. I shove the key into the lock and twist it. The car's locks click and pop up on the door. Just as I pull the door open, I hear a slight chuckle.

I pause.

It sounds again.

Wait. That's not a chuckle. At least not a human chuckle.

I groan and crane my neck around, looking in all directions for the source of the sound. A car rolls past in the street, a roar among the quiet in the autumn afternoon. And then I see it skitter out from behind my car. Really? Now? Of all times? The cucco chuckles at me again as if it's truly amused by my predicament. Slowly, I take small, baby steps towards the little white bird as it struts itself around my driveway, clucking away.

It pauses.

I stop.

You little bastard.

Arms flying, I lunge after the cucco and ensnare it in one go. "Ha-ha!" I exclaim in victory as the cucco squirms and struggles in my arms. I jog across my yard over to my neighbors, screaming repeatedly, "Anju!" as a light trail of white feathers follows my wake.

My neighbor opens her front door and peeks out through the storm door. Her face immediately expands into shock when she sees me struggling with the cucco in my arms. She flings the storm door open and hurries out, shouting, "Take it into the back! I'll open the coop!"

With Anju's help, we quickly get the cucco back into its coop. I stand back as Anju points at each one and mutters to herself. Finally, her arm drops, and she sighs. "Oh dear," she groans. "There's another one missing too."

Oh jeez.

"I'm sure it'll turn up, Anju," I tell the petite woman.

"Oh, but it's my fault," she says. "I'm sorry."

I wave my hand. "It's alright. They escape," I assure her. "I'm just glad I saw one of them before I ran it over."

Anju laughs slightly at this. "Are you on your way out?" she asks me. "If you'd like, you can come in and have some tea or something for your trouble."

"I really have to get going, Anju," I say, ignoring the protests from my stomach. I don't have time! Dammit! "But thanks!" I wave merrily at her in goodbye.

"Well, maybe when you get back," she says brightly. "And hopefully by then, I'll have the other one rounded up."

"I'm sure you'll find it," I say and wave again, rushing back to my car.

I hop into my car and start it up, the engine pulsing beneath my foot as I put it in reverse and stomp on the gas. I whip out of my driveway and put the car in drive in a hurry. Then remembering I need to call Link back, I go digging my phone back out of my pocket. I gloss through my contacts to Link's name and hit it, glancing between my phone and the road until my phone finally starts to ring. That's the stupid thing about touch screens, I never know when I've actually hit something.

I cruise down the street until I see something brown come poking out from the grass. I slam on the brake. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

"Zel?"

"Motherfucker!" I scream, slapping the steering wheel.

There's a beat of silence before I hear Link slur in, "What?"

I bring my phone to my ear. "My neighbor's cucco is trying to cross the street," I say, watching the brown bird cluck and strut its way across the road.

"Um…" Link hesitates. "Am I supposed to answer that?"

"Link," I say flatly, "I'm not trying to make a 'how did the cucco cross the road' joke." I clamp my mouth shut as I watch the damn thing nearly get across the road before indecisively turning around. "Motherfucker just turned around!" I holler into the phone.

Link chuckles on the other end.

"So your neighbor really keeps cucco?"

"She does, and this one can't decide whether or not to cross the road!"

Link snorts and howls at my situation. "There are a lot of jokes to be made, but I can't decide which one."

"Don't," I say firmly. I lay on the horn, and the cucco quickly makes up its mind and skitters off the road safely onto the other side. "I'll rip your tongue out myself."

"I'm still outside the bakery," Link informs me.

"Good," I say, "because I'm on my way."

"I figured as much."

**…**

"Well, it doesn't look like anybody was trying to break in," I say, scratching at my scalp.

Link shrugs. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"What're you sorry for?" I immediately snap back. "It's weird. Why would somebody be poking around the bakery?" Link slouches a little and rubs at the back of his neck as I say, "I'm going to text Impa and tell her everything looks okay."

"Okay."

My stomach rumbles a little again.

"Hey, are you hungry?" I ask him as I pull out my phone and begin tapping out my message to Impa. "I kind of forgot to eat today."

Link's brow knits and one of his eyes narrows as he looks at me in disbelief. "How do you forget to eat?"

I shrug. "I get caught up in… stuff," I finish lamely shoving my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. Like books, and crazy dreams, and reading, and crazy dreams, and phone calls, and cucco, and crazy dreams and more crazy dreams. I absently scratch at my hand again. Stupid thing. Maybe I need to start putting on more lotion; the weather has begun to get drier, and with all the hand washing I have to do at work…

Link snickers at me. "I could eat something," he says and picks up his bags from Malo Mart.

"Do you need to drop that off at your house first?" I ask him as we start to walk around the building to the back where I'd parked my car.

He shakes his head, flinging his blond locks around. "Naw," he replies as I unlock the car. "It's just toothpaste and paper towels and such." He tosses it in the back seat before sliding in up front.

As I start the car, Link asks, "Do you really think she'll come back?"

"I'm sure she will," I say.

We drive around in silence for a while before I realize something. "Where the hell are we going?" I ask aloud.

"I don't know," Link says.

"Well pick something!" I insist. My stomach growls low in agreement. I don't even care. I think I'm at that point where I'm so hungry, everything looks incredibly good and delicious and, at the same time, completely unappetizing and disgusting. I just need to eat. Something. Anything. Everything. "We've passed at least a dozen different places."

"Uh-"

"Something!" I shout irritably. The rumble of my stomach sounds again.

Link sputters out, "Burgers and fries!"

"Burgers and fries it is!" I holler back. I'm almost drooling as I quickly turn the car into the first place I see and park. I quickly usher Link inside, my stomach now fully running my conscience.

We put our orders in, me telling the cashier the first thing I see on the menu. I have no idea what I've ordered. I have no idea what I'm putting my drink cup, I just know I'm filling it up. I hope I didn't put in too much ice. That means less drink and more time away from me massacring my food when I have to get up for a refill. I'm just hungry. Sooo hungry. I want food. I want to eat. I want to destroy. "I feel like I've transformed into some kind of monster," I tell Link as he leads us to a booth to wait for our orders to be called. "Like, I'm going to fucking rip this place apart if I don't eat. GO HULK!"

He sniggers at me. Then Link pauses before sitting down at the table. I ask him, "What's wrong?" and he replies, "Why don't you sit on this side?" Link moves to sit on the other side of the booth.

"Why?" I ask, confused.

He shoots a smile, blue eyes twinkling and says, "Well, we can't have your back to the door in case the mafia wants to hold up a burger joint, right?"

"Oh," I say dumbly. I forgot about that, but I just laugh it off and sit down. "Seriously though," I say, "we're not in some sort of television drama. I think I could handle having my back to the door once in a while."

Link chuckles low. He places an arm on the table and leans in towards me. "Oh just you watch," he challenges, pointing a finger at me, "the one time you do is when a bunch of dudes come busting through the doors and cut you off mid-"

**…**

"So I've been thinking-"

"Sheik," I groan as the blonde pushes me aside to enter my house. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What?" he exclaims, turning around to face me as I shut my front door briskly. "I don't even get a 'Hello, Sheik! Great to see you again! You're such a wonderful person to come visit me'? For shame, Sister!"

"Not like you give me much of a greeting when you come shoving yourself into my house with a proclamation that you've actually been thinking," I snap right back at him. "I do have to say that I'm quite surprised at your brain power. I didn't think you could handle thinking."

Sheik's face hardens, his fists on his hips. "You're one cold bitch, you know that?"

"Sheik," I say with warning.

Link sits awkwardly on my couch in the den, watching my step-brother and I converse with each other out in the hall, as if he's intruding on something private between us. He looks on, however, slightly bemused at the scene.

"Okay, okay!" Sheik concedes, flapping one of his hands at me in dismissal. His hand drops, and he shuffles closer towards me. "No, but seriously-"

I cut him off as fast as lightning. "You couldn't think to save your life."

"I thought we were past this," he whines.

"Apparently not," I retort.

Sheik huffs at me. "And I thought we were trying to make some attempt to be closer to one another," he sniffs in mock disappointment.

"That doesn't mean I want you physically closer to me."

"Ouch." He frowns. Then he points an accusing finger at my face. I don't back away. "You know, I've told you before that I couldn't really keep up with you."

"Phone calls might be better for you."

His eyes roll up towards the ceiling before Sheik looks back at me. "I think I have to agree. You're less intimidating when I can't see you."

I push past him to walk into my den and settle myself on the other end of the couch, opposite of Link. "What is it you want?" I ask him, pulling my feet up onto the cushions.

Sheik's eyes catch Link's. Sheik's mouth curves into a sly smile. Link looks back at him with that look of oblivious stupidity. "Oh well, I was going to tell you that Groose had been asking about you, but I see that you've upgraded."

"What?" I spit.

"Was my joke too complicated for _your_ brain?" he jeers at me, sitting down on a chair beside me. I just glare at him, and he gives me a perky smile right back. Oh gods, Sheik.

"No," I say slowly for him. Then: "Who the fuck is Groose?"

He frowns at me once more, and his eyebrows knit. "Groose," he repeats. "That guy. Big. Red hair?" His eyes dart around the room as he notices my glare not faltering. Then his eyebrows fly up, and his whole face lightens. "Pompadour!" he exclaims. "The shirt Pompadour."

Oh. Oh sweet Nayru, where is your mercy?

I stare back at Sheik, slack jawed. "Seriously?" is all I manage and Sheik just hoots at me.

Wait.

"Upgraded"? Nice word choice, Sheik. What the fuuuck?

Oh, Link. I'm so sorry.

I say, "You really didn't just come all the way over here to tell me that, did you?"

Sheik feigns innocence. "What? I can't drop by to spend some time with my darling sister once in a while?"

"You never drop by to just 'spend time'," I remind him stiffly. "What do you want?"

"Aren't we trying to make an effort to know each other better?" he questions, completely eluding giving me the real reason why he's suddenly at my house of all places in Hyrule.

_Really_? Are we back to this again? Sheik! "Are you sure you're not my father's son?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're talking like him."

He reflects on this for a moment before saying, "True."

"Sheik!" I holler.

He swipes a hand in the air at me. "I came to ask you for money," he mumbles, defeated.

"Money?" I repeat. "What for?"

"I think I'm going to back to school," he tells me honestly. "I'm getting financial aid and some loans and everything, but I applied too late for aid for it to go into effect right away, so I need to come up with tuition by the end of the first week in December."

"You'll pay me back?" I ask him levelly.

"I will!" he says quickly. "Shit like… I don't want to have to end up on some daytime court television show when you sue me." Link snickers beside me. "I'll get reimbursed with the financial aid, but towards the middle of the semester when they process refunds."

I shrug. "Fine," I say. "How much do you need?"

"Depends on how many classes I take," he says, giving his own light shrug. "I'll let you know. I just wanted to make sure you could help me out."

"Why didn't you just ask one of our parents?"

"My mom is _way_ more intimidating than you are," he responds, giving me a harsh look. "And your dad's not my dad. I'd feel weird asking him to help me out like that, you know?"

Sheik's face suddenly brightens and he slaps his legs, saying, "Anyway!" He grins widely at me. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Sheik. I roll my eyes. I swear sometimes, ever since we met, it's been his calling to humiliate and tease me incessantly. Jackass. "This is Link, Sheik. Link, this is my more so idiotic brother," I say, gesturing at Sheik.

"So I'm not the biggest numbskull in your life?" Link asks me. An eyebrow quirks up about his gaze.

"I lied," I admit to him. "I'm sorry."

Sheik smiles brightly at us, and Link nervously darts another glance at me after glancing over at my step-brother. "Well!" Sheik exclaims, clapping his hands and rising from his chair. "Nice meeting you, Link!" he says to Link, grabbing Link's hand suddenly and furiously shaking it. Sheik beams at us. "Let me know if you can't think of any good names; I can help with that," Sheik tells Link, and he finally lets go of the latter's hand as I feel my whole face heat up. Link rubs his hand absently, his eyes flicking around the room. "Actually," Sheik says after a brief pause, "I would like to put it out there, that Sheik is a very nice name."

"I thought it was 'Skyloaf'," Link states awkwardly, unsure of what's going on.

Sheik frowns at Link as he turns away, saying, "I wasn't talking about the bakery."

"Sheik!" I whine after him as he skips out of my den. I scramble up from my seat on the couch to follow him to the door.

He turns back to look at me as he opens my door. "I'll call you later about the details," he promises me. "I think I might go into gemology."

"Um, that's nice," I say, a little taken aback by the sudden change of topics. I shake my head and pull him close, hissing, "You weren't going to say anything."

"About what?" he asks me innocently.

I sneer at him. "Get the fuck out of my house," I tell him, shoving him through the threshold as he hoots into the night. His head swivels around and his limbs rustle. "I'll see you later." I hiss again at him, "But I swear on Din's name I will fucking cut you in your sleep if you say anything more to him."

He holds his hands up in surrender, still smiling at me mischievously. "Fine, fine. Night, Zellie!" he teases and takes off for his car.

Ass.

I shake my head and wait for him to start the car. When his lights flash on and he drives off, I finally shut the door. Thank you, Sheik, for trying to humiliate me once again. Maybe there was a reason we didn't really talk before this past week. I make a mental note to hold off our next encounter for a while. I might even forgo our Sunday dinner deal for a week or two.

My feet tap lightly on the floor as I head back into the den. I mumble an apology to Link about Sheik's behavior before settling myself back down on the couch, but he doesn't comment on it or even bring Sheik up. "What'd I miss?" I ask Link, pulling my feet up once more on the cushions. I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over my legs.

Link shrugs, his feet tapping softly on the rug. He scratches at his head through his green beanie. "Not much," he admits. "You missed this one guy falling off a ladder and getting ripped to shreds by a shark though."

"Shame," I say sadly, shaking my head. "What the hell have we been watching anyway?"

Link cracks a smile and a laugh before answering me. "I have no idea either."

"I fucking hate that," I say. "I don't have one of those cable boxes, so I don't have a TV guide on my television," I complain to Link, "and they never show the name of whatever it is that's on anymore after the commercial breaks!" I dig through the couch cushions to find the remote and toss it to Link. He fumbles his catch, the remote slipping through his grasp and landing in his lap. "Find one of your damn cartoons, or I'll end up putting on one of those home and garden channels."

He picks up the remote and begins to flick through channels when I say, "Hey."

"Hm?"

I hesitate for a moment to ask him, but I just have to know. I _have_ to. "Do you know anybody named Uli?"

"Oh yeah," he says with chipper, instantly recognizing the name. "She lives back in Ordon where I grew up," he tells me. "She's married to my friend Rusl."

"Rusl?" I ask aloud in complete disbelief, more so to myself than to Link, but he answers me anyway.

Link says to me, not missing a beat, "Yeah. He took real good care of my grandmother and us when I was younger and he just started out on the force. He's a very kind man; he treated us like we were his family."

Holy shit.

"The force?" I ask him, looking for clarification.

Link nods. "Yeah, he's a police officer. He made captain a few years ago."

My skin begins to prickle up at this information like little scales rustling from a waking dragon, and I scratch at my hand.

Link pauses in his channel surfing and looks at me with concern. "Are you alright, Zellie? Your hand is really red," he comments, his eyes locked at where I've been practically scraping the skin away with my nails on my right hand.

"Oh it's nothing," I say, trying to dismiss his concern quickly. "I've just been getting really dry skin with the weather changing."

Link doesn't look very convinced at my explanation, but to be honest, it's all I've got. The funny thing, _I'm_ not even really convinced by it at this point. If my hands were actually just dry, lotion would have helped a little by now, but why is it just one hand? Why isn't my left hand all itchy and red too?

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of such thoughts.

I stuff my hand into the pocket of my hoodie, and pointedly look away from Link.

"Why'd you ask about Uli, anyway?" Link says, breaking the silence as he resumes flipping through channels to find something to watch.

"Oh, one of my friends mentioned her to me the other day," I tell him. It's not totally true, but it kind of is. I mean, it was Malon that brought her up in the first place. Even if it was all just some freakish dream I was having. "I thought you might know her."

"She's real nice," Link says. "If you ever take a vacation, you should visit Ordon. It's small like Kakariko, but I think you'd like all the woods and fields around it."

"Yeah," I say, not really paying attention anymore. My mind is elsewhere as I scratch at my hand inside my pocket.

"Hey Zellie?" Link calls me, and I shake myself to attention, but I keep on ripping at my flesh. "Is it okay if I come in with you tomorrow morning?"

"You want to bake?"

He nods, beaming at me.

"Why not?" I say. "If you don't screw it up too much, maybe I can take that vacation."

**…**

Link snores lightly next to me. I shove him over. Inconsiderate ass is taking up most of _my_ bed. I huff and push him again, but he rolls away from me, still asleep. Well, at least I have room again.

I sigh and glance over at the clock. It's almost midnight now. I roll my head back and stare up at the ceiling, praying I can go back to sleep. I feel my hand twinge again uncomfortably. I groan, and I slide myself out of bed and stomp over to the bathroom. I really don't want to turn on a light, because the second I do, I'm blinded. I rub my eyes. Yeah, I don't know if I can go back to sleep for a while after this.

I kneel down and open the doors to the vanity and shuffle through my toiletries. I pull out some lotion and squeeze some out on the back of my hand.

What the hell is that?

The bottle clatters to the floor as I shoot up from my position on the floor to get a better look at my hand under the lights above the mirror.

Etched in red raised skin are three triangles.

I rub the lotion into my skin, hoping in the back of my mind that I'm seeing things and that lotion in a little glob was obstructing what I was seeing. But my eyes do not deceive me as the lotion sinks into my skin, and the triangles remain just as they were before.

I look over my shoulder into my bedroom, and Link is still soundly asleep in my bed, unaware, as usual, of my predicament.

I rub my eyes wearily, sighing to myself. I slap my hands onto the counter and lean towards the mirror, inspecting my face. I don't see anything unusual about it. Dark purple circles under my eyes as I stare at my reflection, exhaustion evident in my violet eyes as they try to blink away the sleep. I usually have the dark smear under each eye, and everyone knows it since I never wear make-up, but tonight, they're noticeably darker than the usual. Apart from my more so haggard looking eyes, nothing is out of the ordinary. My face is exactly as it has been with blond eyebrows poking down my brow, a set, serious mouth, a straight classical Roman nose with the glimmer of a titanium stud on one nostril. A bit of metal pokes out from under my nostril, and I poke the jewelry back into my nose.

I lean back.

See? No metal booger.

But honestly, I don't see what makes me any different than I once was. I don't see anything that really makes me stand out.

I tug a little at one of my ear lobes, playing with the plug as I frown at my reflection.

What exactly is so different about me?

I shut off the light and crawl back into bed beside my friend. I shift uncomfortably, deciding that I better keep the fact that my itching has resulted in the sacred Triforce appearing on the back of my hand to myself.

I mess with my pillow as I try to find a comfortable position. Link snorts in mid-snore. I hear him sniff before he flips himself from his side to his stomach, the bed bouncing lightly from his sudden movement. I roll my head over my shoulder to call him, my resolve dissolving, but my words catch in my throat. I shouldn't tell him about it. What the hell am I thinking?

I slap his back.

Link doesn't respond.

I guess I really am on my own.

I loll my head over to the clock. Ten after midnight. My nose twitches, and I swing an arm out to adjust the alarm. Fuck going in at four, I think we can sacrifice an hour for one day. Especially if there's two of us. Link's been working at the bakery for a couple of months, he should be able to handle the morning bake. I click away at the alarm clock to make sure it's set once again and that it's set for four am instead of three.

Once my conscience is assured and worry assuaged, I roll back over in my bed. I rub my eyes and sigh in exasperation, the knowing seeping into me that sleep won't come easy now that I've woken.

I can feel the prickling start again on my hand. I groan in distaste at the sensation.

After a few minutes of staring into darkness, I shuffle myself over in the bed and plop my head square in the middle of Link's back. He only sniffs lightly in his sleep. I close my eyes as the prickling sensation begins to subside as I concentrate on the rhythmic whoosh of air in and out of his lungs and the steady beat of his heart.

I'm comfortably beginning to feel the lulls of sleep right when Link decides that sleeping on his side might be the better option, and I'm flipped off of him.

Dammit Link! I curse him silently as I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep to the rhythmic nothingness of my mattress.

* * *

><p>So guys, I think I might end the story here. I no longer have the heart to continue. See, the other day, I was playing Skyward Sword, and I got this hot date with Item Check Girl. I think it was meant to be. Fuck Zelda. Like, Item Check Girl and Link are just sooo damn in love. I'll just go through the whole story and replace Zelda's name with Peatrice.<p>

Seriously though, I did have a hard time writing this. It was like, THE PRESSURE'S ON. There's three things... well, four in this chapter that I was building up to that I now have to address later, but it was trying to get it set up that really stumped for a bit. I knew I wanted to start out with the phone call between Link and Zelda and then it got mushed from there. But luckily, I'm at the point where Link, Zelda, Sheik and Malon are all so defined that they basically run the story themselves; I'm at that point where I'm like, "Oh man! What's going to happen next?" I was thinking the conversation on the couch between Link and Zelda would happen at the diner, until I just had to make a Sopranos joke. I ended up having Sheik coming in and I was thinking the entire time, "What the fuck does he want?" And he dropped his own bomb.

I basically have no idea where this is going. Lol. I'm in as much limbo now as you guys. So I am very excited.

ON ANOTHER NOTE, I will not be abandoning this. I'm officially under contract with one of my professors to complete this. This story is officially homework. Now I gotta make a good impression guys. Let me know what works and what doesn't work for you guys. Any holes? I've been worried about the dialogue being stale with "I say, he says", so I've been trying to switch it up. You guys feel the same? I love hearing from you all. I really do. I laugh every time I go back to read all your comments. I actually had to turn OFF all my alerts because I've been getting so many emails telling me so and so added this to their favorites or it's on their alert list, or they sent me a PM or I have a new review. It's fantastic guys. It really is. I just can't handle my phone going off all the time. Lol.

For real guys, I can't believe how big the response for this is. I appreciate it, I really do. So until next time, let me know what you think in the meanwhile!

:3


	7. Shake and Bake

Zombie Cake

7.0

Shake and Bake

"Okay, first things first," I say, adjusting the mat on the floor with my foot. "You wash your hands?"

Link salutes me. "Aye, Cap'ain!"

I crack a smile and a chuckle and remind him, "Don't fall on your ass today with those shoes now."

"I'll be sure to avoid puddles like the plague," he yawns sleepily. Then he smiles sheepishly at me and pretends to slide, shouting, "Workers comp!"

I shake my head at him. At least he's a little more awake now than when he was before showering. Having just stayed over last night, he's still in the same clothes as yesterday and looks as haggard as I do. I'm surprised I was even able to get him up – which basically consisted of me finally pushing him out of bed and onto the floor. Even though I set the alarm for an hour later than usual, I still feel restless as well. I quickly glance down at my hand. The redness has faded, as so has the mark. For now, at least. The itchiness and the prickly feelings seemed to have subsided as well, although I'm not sure why. The stupid thing kept me up all through the night. I would finally feel deep sleep settling in and then the sensations in my hand would perk up again.

I glance out the front window of the bakery. Even though it's five am, the outside world is as dark as ever. Little stars line the sky, and the street lights still glow above the roads where not a single car drives by. Even the lights lining the awnings in front of the buildings are still on.

"Go in the freezer and grab some of those breakfast pastries and turnovers. Four of each pastry, and we'll do two boxes worth of each flavor of turnovers," I instruct him, turning back to face him. "We'll bake those first. They can go straight in the oven and we'll leave them in there for a half an hour."

Link scurries off to the freezer to pull the pastries I requested as I find a pair of scissors to turn on the oven. Even though we've cleaned this place numerous times and searched everywhere, when Link broke off and lost the knob to the oven, it literally disappeared. It's been two months, and we still can't find it; it's getting pretty old. I open the scissors a little and stick it into the plastic bit and turn the oven on. I close the scissors and toss them onto the baker's counter and reach up to flick the switch to turn the proofer on.

A baker's rack scrapes and grates against the floor as Link wheels it out, and I tell him, "Just go ahead and stick it in the oven."

"Even though it's not up to temp?"

"Yeah, it's fine," I say, waving it off, and Link proceeds to open the oven door and slide the rack in. I quickly scribble instructions down for Link in a notebook to follow as he sets the timer. Link waits until I finish while giving me an expecting look.

"Okay," I say. "I turned the proofer on. The first things that really should go in there, and I know I don't always take of them first, are all the egg breads and the croissants."

"Alright," Link says, following me as I lead him to the retarder.

"The retarder has to stay at around thirty-two degrees," I remind him, "and the freezer at about two. We'll be going in and out, but you really have to be vigilant on keeping the doors shut so it'll keep cold in both." I pull open the door to the retarder and step inside.

I tell Link, "I'll grab one and you grab one. I didn't have these in any particular order." Link nods and complies, grabbing hold of a rack and wheels it out after me. We pull the racks up to the baker's table and pull off the plastic coverings.

"Where do you want these?" Link asks, taking my plastic bag from me.

I say, "You can leave it on one of the other counters for now. We'll reuse them for the pan-up."

"What's the pan-up?" he asks, tossing away the plastic bags on a counter.

"It's when we pull dough from the freezer to bake the next day," I tell him as he saunters up to me.

I quickly scribble down proofing instructions for Link in the notebook. "I'm writing all this down for you, by the way," I say to him. "That way you won't need me to baby you every step of the way."

Link chuckles and pulls a new rack over, but struggles with it. "What the hell is wrong with this one?"

I look over and glance down at the wheels. The bearings are rusted more so than the other racks. "Oh," I groan. "That's the broken one. Ingo stupidly put that one in the oven one day when I stepped out. One of the wheels melted in the oven.

"You can stick that one in the proofer and leave it there, and we can just switch out the trays as needed. Not everything will rise at the same time," I say, grabbing hold of a tray as Link opens the proofer and then fumbles with the rack to shove it in.

"Why did he put this one in the oven?" Link growls, scraping the rack across the floor. "It can't even be picked up and turned in there."

"I've no idea," I say truthfully.

I tell him, "Kick the wheels sideways, else the door won't close." Link does so and then moves out of the way so I put the tray of challah bread on the rack.

Link grabs the croissants and places them on the rack in the proofer.

"The egg breads," I begin, "and the croissants are all ready to just put straight in the proofer, because I usually space them out to proof when I do the pan-up, but the other stuff, we need to space out and depending on what it is, add cornmeal to it."

With all the croissants and egg breads in the proofer, I tell Link to set the timer on the baker's table for twenty minutes and that we'd check up on them when it goes off. Link gives me a feral grin and says, "So it's a waiting game now, huh?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, it is," I reply.

"Grab that cornmeal off the rack next to the oven; it's the tray with a bunch of yellow stuff on it," I say, and Link shuffles over and peeks under pieces of paper until he find the tray as I grab a tray of rolls off one of the racks. I place the tray on the table as Link slides back over.

"The easiest thing to start with," I tell Link as he sets the tray of cornmeal down and rolls the paper off the tray, "are the hoagie rolls. They like to stick and roll with each other if they get too warm.

"But before we to work on that, let's reorganize these racks real fast and shove on of them back in the retarder until we're done with the hoagies."

"Okay," Link says. "Which ones go where?"

I tell him which breads we'll work on first and we move the racks around accordingly. Link quickly covers the rack we won't need for a while back under the plastic bag and rolls it back into the retarder to keep cool.

"What happens if we just leave the dough out on the floor?"

"It'll start to proof on the floor," I tell him. "Although just not as fast as if we actually stuck it in the proofer.

"Okay," I say, grabbing a few trays with five ridges in them off a rack next to the oven. I place the stack of trays on the edge of the baker's table next to the tray of cornmeal. "First thing to do, is to wet the bottoms of the dough." I point at the long slim pieces of dough where a pattern has been mashed into it. "That pattern there marks the bottom."

I hand Link the spray bottle of water, and he quickly flips any rolls that aren't bottom up over and sprays them as I pull over an empty rack. I help him throw them bottom down on the cornmeal, the cornmeal sticking to the wet dough and we place them on the tray, two to a row.

"Put them a little closer together," I tell Link. "Otherwise, when they proof, they'll expand over the edge of the tray." Link chuckles and then moves the rolls closer together towards the center of the tray.

I grab the sheet of paper off the tray, and Link sets to work spraying those rolls. "They're like slugs," he laughs, setting the water bottle down and pulling a long hoagie roll off the tray.

"More like little snakes," I say, tossing two more rolls on the cornmeal before plopping them on the tray. "The cut clubs are more like slugs. Little fat ones." As we fill each tray, we place it on the rack I'd pulled up to the table and start a new one.

By the time we have all the hoagies prepped with cornmeal and ready to be placed in the proofer, the timer goes off. I shut off the timer as Link opens the door to the proofer and wrinkles his nose. He turns, frowning at me and says, "It smells like a gym locker filled with sweaty socks. Like a sweaty gym sauna in there."

I snicker at his analogy and look at the bread and croissants in the proofer. The croissants are barely any bigger than when they were first put in, as expected, but the other breads haven't risen a whole lot in their time in their steam bath either. I tell him, "Everything needs more time, but the croissants will be in there for what seems like forever. When we bake them, they'll all rise a bit more, but not as much as they do in the proofer."

"Aight," Link says, and shuts the door to the proofer as I reset the timer. He checks on the pastries as the rack they sit on slowly rotates inside the oven. There's still five minutes left on the timer, but when I come up next to Link and peek in the oven, they look almost done. They've gotten a nice golden color to the edges, but the centers of some of the turnovers haven't quite gotten there yet. "Wait it out for the timer?" Link asks me, and I nod in response.

I pull out from the rack of dough next the cut clubs, and place it on the table. "These guys like to roll around when they're frozen," I laugh, and start to arrange them more appropriately to proof.

"We don't cornmeal those, right?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Here, why don't you finish spacing the rest out like I did, and I write out what we've done."

"Okay," Link replies and pulls the tray towards him, and I go and write out directions for the hoagies and cut clubs.

"Don't we need to put cuts in these and the hoagies?"

"Not until after they've been proofed," I say. "I'll write down what gets what cut for you too, so you don't forget."

"What if I forget to cut them anyway?" Link pokes at me.

"Then they'll expand to monstrous proportions."

We don't say anything, just work in silence. I continue to scribble out instructions for Link as he finishes peeling the little hotdog rolls off the paper on the tray and placing them back in a more orderly fashion. He shoves the tray on the rack with the hoagies just as the oven timer goes off. I throw my pen down as Link shuts the timer off and pulls on the oven mitts. He opens the door and the heat files out of the oven in waves. I glaze over the pastries as the rack slowly lowers to the oven floor.

"Pull them," I order him. "They're done."

Link pulls the rack out, and as he moves the rack off to the side to cool, I shut the oven door. He tosses one mitt on the rack and places the other back on the hook on the oven under the timer and power switch.

I grab the rack of cut clubs and hoagies and shove them into the other side of the proofer and shut the door on them. I open the other door to the proofer and check on the breads. "Link, grab a rack," I say as I pull down the braided challah. He rolls an empty rack over and I shove the tray of challah onto it.

"One way to know some if some of these breads are ready is to just poke them with your finger. If the dough is all sticky and clings to your finger, it's not done."

"So kind of like pasta noodles?"

"Yeah," I agree, grabbing the tray of onion pockets and placing it on the rack.

Link asks, "Are these egg twist rolls done too? They look big enough."

"Yeah they're ready too," I say. "Basically the only things that need more time are the croissants."

Link opens up the oven, and I push the rack of egg breads over to him. He puts the rack in and shuts the door as I tell him about the steam function on the oven. "You'll want to steam those for twenty seconds," I say and Link pulls the knob for the steam down to the twenty. It takes a second before the oven emits a hiss from inside. I tell him what to set the oven timer to, and Link quickly follows.

"We need to bake the par-baked stuff right? For the bread case?" Link reminds me.

I nod and tell him, "Yeah. Go pull the trucks from the retarder and I'll get another rack." He does as I ask and drags out one of the cabinets containing all of the partially baked breads we have before heading back into the freezer to grab the second. I open them up, and with Link, we quickly are able to throw together a full rack of bread.

"The steam should have worn off by now," I say and Link opens the door. I pull on the oven mitt and once the rack inside has lowered, I shove it back further so Link can fit the par-baked bread into the oven. "Once the timer goes off, we'll have to give this stuff about ten more minutes. Can you remember that?"

"I think so."

"Good."

The next thing I have Link work on are the Kaiser rolls. "The little party Kaisers," I say pulling down the tray, "I already have spaced out. That's the easiest way to distinguish them. When I do the pan-up, I space them out and I make sure that they're all bottom up." I flip one of the small circular rolls over to show a five point star pattern on the other side of the roll. "This side is the top, and the bottom has the same kind of u-shaped dents on them as the hoagies and cut clubs." I plop it back, top down, onto the pan. "So all we have to do is spray these with water and put cornmeal on them too."

Quickly, we get the party Kaisers prepped and ready to proof, and I shove it back onto the rack they came from and grab the tray of the regular sized Kaisers.

"We have to do the same thing with these, only we need to get new trays to space them out on," I say setting the tray down. Link grabs a new tray from the stack, metal clanging against metal as he sets it down. I grab a sheet of paper and spread it out on the tray as Link begins spraying the top layer of rolls with water.

The oven timer goes off in a shrill and I say to Link, "Your sweetheart's calling you."

Link grins and chuckles to himself as he goes to reset the timer and pulls the egg breads out from the oven.

"Check the proofer too," I tell him over my shoulder as I toss a few more Kaisers onto the tray of cornmeal. "Are the croissants almost up to size?"

"Almost," he calls back.

I shrug. "Check them again in about five minutes," I say. "I'll set the timer." I set the timer and then peel away the paper from the tray full of dough to reveal the bottom layer of Kaiser rolls. I crumple the paper up and toss it away as Link moves in to wet the bottom layer of Kaisers with water. Link and I plop as many rolls onto the cornmeal as we can fit on the tray before plopping them onto the new tray and spacing them so they have room to rise.

Link chuckles.

"What?"

"It's like digging for sea shells at the beach."

"In really yellow sand."

"I just hope sand's not like snow."

I snort in laughter and grab the completed tray and slide it onto the rack with the party Kaisers. A new tray clatters down on the table, and Link tugs out more paper and sets it down on the tray. Quickly, we fill this one too, and Link sets it on the rack.

When the timer goes off, I reset it and open the proofer door. Gym socks. Yes, indeed. That is the only way to describe the smell of raw dough rising. I tug the broken rack out, it screaming in defiance, and shut the door. I set the broken rack with the croissants on it aside and help Link finish up the Kaisers. With the Kaisers finished, I have Link put the rack into the proofer and set the timer for a half an hour.

"Do we need to put the croissants in the oven?"

"You can go ahead and pull the par-baked stuff out," I say glancing at the timer. I check on the cut clubs and the hoagies, and they too are ready to come out. "The timer's about to go off."

As Link retrieves the bread from the oven, I pull over the rack with the pastries on it. "Grab some plates, and we'll put this out," I tell him over the grating sound of the rack on the floor. I lean down under the baker's table and pull out a small bucket and set it on the table. Link sets some plates out and we begin to pull the pastries off the rack and place them on the plate. I hand Link some icing from the bucket. "Squeeze some of that out on the apple and blueberry pastries. There's also powdered sugar and maple syrup in this bucket. The syrup goes on the maple pecan pastries and then we dust some powdered sugar on the cheese pastries." Link obliges, putting icing and the maple syrup on the pastries as I tap out the powdered sugar and put the plates out into their case.

"Want me to go ahead and box the turnovers?" Link asks.

I shake my head. "No, they usually need more time to cool off. Otherwise the box will steam up."

"So set the rack aside for now?"

"We need the rack for the croissants," I say. "So set the turnover trays onto the rack with the egg breads."

Link does as I ask, and I begin to set the croissant trays onto the rack to go into the oven. I shake my hand off of the moisture that's collected under the trays. Link opens up the oven and takes the rack from me and I set the timer.

"Holding up?" I ask him.

He sighs. "I think so."

"It's not so bad with two people," I say, glancing over at the clock. "Maybe I should have you baking with me all the time."

Link chuckles.

"Ready to make some cuts?" I ask Link.

Link shrugs. "Sure."

I grab a knife from the table, pull out a tray of hoagies out slightly and slice a hoagie roll down the middle. "You can kind of dig into the dough with the hoagies, but try not to pull too hard, otherwise the dough will stick to the knife and get pulled with it." I shove the tray back onto the rack completely and then pull out the cut clubs and tap three horizontal lines into the top of one. "With the cut clubs, you just want to tap it lightly. If you do it too deep, it might shrink back a little."

I hand the knife off to Link and he quickly makes all the cuts into the dough.

"You want me to put it in the oven too?"

"No, these need to steam for twenty seconds too, so we'll wait for the croissants to finish before putting it in."

Link nods.

"I'm getting hungry," he tells me, patting his stomach. Even I can hear it gurgle pathetically, whining and begging for food. I snicker to myself, thinking that even his stomach shares the same personality as he does.

"Once we get the French and Italian loaves in the proofer, I'll send you out for donuts," I promise him. "Those are the last things that need to go in the proofer, so we can eat after that."

"Finally!" Link exclaims. After finally getting him up and out of bed (or rather out of bed and then up), I threw him into the guest bathroom to shower before ushering him into the car like a child about to be late for school. "How do you go so long without eating everything?"

"Discipline," I tell him. "Otherwise my inner fatty would go crazy with me here all day, every day."

Link chuckles and asks if I want him to grab the last rack of dough. I have him bring it out while I scratch out in the notebook more instructions for him. Still writing, I tell him to grab an empty tray and to put paper down. When he's done so, I say, "Grab one of those loaf pans over there under where you got the cornmeal." He sets the pan down as I instruct him to spray all four sections of the pan with cooking spray. He waits as I gather my thoughts of where I'm at in writing, before I finish scribbling out my thoughts in the notebook. I pull down the tray with several round loaves on it, and I set the heavy tray down on the table with a bang.

"Alright, all these are the sandwich loaves. You see how I've got some of these labeled?" Link nods. I say, "You can't tell the difference between the white, the salt free, the sourdough or the English muffin, so you have to label them when you do the pan-up."

"And you want me to label it when it goes in the pan too?"

"I'm not going to keep track of what's what for you," I reply. I grab a pencil and hand it to him, saying, "Here."

He sets it aside on the tray as I pull off a loaf of pumpernickel rye. "I don't make any set bottom to it," I tell him, "so just squirt one side with water and dunk it in the cornmeal and then in the loaf pan." I toss the pumpernickel loaves onto the cornmeal tray and Link pulls them both off and puts them into the pan. "Put the sourdough with it and label it on the paper."

I go back to writing out instructions for him.

"Cornmeal the seedless rye too, right?"

"Yup," I say, not looking up. "I'll write that stuff down for you too. You'll want to put cornmeal on the seeded rye boules and roll the English muffin loaves completely in cornmeal." I pause, thinking. "Yeah, those are the only ones that have cornmeal on them."

"Aight!"

"And put the salt free by itself and on the top rack," I inform him. "It takes the longest to rise, so it'll get more heat if it's at the top of the rack."

The oven timer goes off in the middle of Link working on the sandwich loaves as does the timer for the proofer. He goes and pulls out the croissants, the buttery goodness wafting through the air as I open the proofer. Oh Farore, that's good. The rack screams hoarsely on the floor as Link drags it off, and the sweaty gym shower hits me, fighting back sweet buttery heaven. Eh, the Kaisers can sweat a while longer in their sauna. I shut the door and reset the timer for ten more minutes.

I go back to writing.

Link puts the rack of sub and hotdog rolls into the oven. There's a pause after he shuts the oven door. "Steam for how long?" he asks me uncertainly.

"Twenty seconds should be good," I reply.

Link twists the knob, and I hear the oven hiss once more with steam.

"What happens if the croissants get steamed?" Link asks me, peeling another loaf of dough off the pan. He plops it in the cornmeal and rolls it around, covering it completely in the cornmeal. English muffin.

"Then they get all flat," I tell him. "They might not bake fully either in the time they should."

When Link finishes up the sandwich loaves, he jams the rack into the proofer, and I remind him to reset the timer for them once the Kaiser rolls finish up.

I pause in my note taking and pull out the tray of Italian and French loaves, sucking in my breath to prepare for the heavy lift. "I actually use the same dough to make both the Italian and French bread," I tell Link as the tray slams down onto the baker's table.

"So what's the difference?"

"Cornmeal on the bottoms for the Italians, and then the French get rolled out and covered in flour." I grab some four ridged trays, calling over my shoulder, "You don't really have to spray those with water. They're usually moist enough to hold onto the cornmeal." I throw down the stack as Link begins pulling off long, fat rolls of dough and plopping them into the cornmeal. "We'll do half and half," I say, and Link nods.

I grab a new rack and pull it over to the table just as the timer goes off.

Link shuts the timer off and opens the proofer to check on the Kaisers as I move the loaves of dough onto a tray. "They look done," Link says to me, dragging the rack out.

"Just let them sit then until the other stuff gets done."

Link peeks into the oven. He tells me, "They're just starting to get some color."

"Give it a few more minutes."

I motion him back over to the table. "When you put these onto the trays, you'll want to angle the Italians," I say. "When you cut them, they get fat and expand width wise in the oven."

We continue to work on getting the Italian bread prepped, Link's stomach gurgling once in a while, until the oven timer goes off. I go and pull out the rack and roll it aside while Link puts in the Kaiser rolls. He sets the steam and then looks questioningly at me about the oven timer. I say, "Fifteen minutes," and he sets it at that.

When the Italian bread is finished, I cover up the tray of cornmeal and put it back where it belongs by the oven.

"Grab a paper towel, and let's wipe this table down," I say.

Link grunts as we swipe all of the cornmeal off of the table, "I wondered how you always get the floor so messy right here." Link takes both our towels and tosses them in the trash.

"Now that you know my secret," I whisper, grabbing the small bin of flour and the sifter, "I cannot allow you to live."

"Not the plank!" he wails.

I holler out, "Fish food!" swinging the sifter at Link and showering him with flour.

He only laughs at me, patting himself off of the flour as I dust it over the table.

"Easiest thing in the world is to roll the dough out first, then roll it in the flour," I tell Link.

"Why's that?"

"The dough will stick to the counter and roll if it doesn't have any flour on it, otherwise you'll just end up pushing it around the table."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Much," I grumble, grabbing a loaf of dough and slapping it on the table. I begin to roll it out, my palms moving from the center out. "Use your palms; it'll help keep it consistent." Once the dough is at an acceptable length, I toss it in my pile of flour and roll it in there before placing it in one of the ridges of a tray.

"You'll want to have at least two inches of space from the dough to the edge of the tray."

"Okay," Link tells me and quickly rolls out the dough.

I take a peek in on the loaves in the proofer. They all need more time as most are barely half way up in their pans. I shut the door, and go back to finish writing out notes and instructions for Link.

The oven goes off again, and Link retrieves the rack and rolls it off to the side.

In between my scribbles, I check on the sandwich loaves, pulling them out as each rises up to size. Once they're all done, I pull Link over and show him how to make the cuts, saying as I hand him the knife, "All the rye breads get three cuts, the salt free gets that little 'S', the white gets one straight cut and the sourdough gets three cuts one way and three cuts the opposite." Link quickly makes the cuts, digging the knife into the dough as I bring the flour sifter over and dust the sourdough.

I then have Link put the rack into the oven. "Steam it," I tell him, and he twists the knob.

Link finishes up the rack of Italian and French bread and puts it in the proofer. He goes to set the timer and asks me, "How long?"

I say, "About an hour. Put forty minutes to start."

"Are you serious?" he exclaims, his face falling. His stomach rumbles again, and I can see the desperation for food in him at this point.

"Why do you think I usually have those done last?"

I dig out my wallet and toss it to him. "Go get us some donuts; I'll keep an eye on the bread."

Link's rushing out the door in a flash, apron still on and hat flopping as I hurry after him to the front door. "BOSTON CREAM!" I scream after him. He waves in acknowledgement, running down the street to the convenience Malo Mart.

I shut the door and lock it before leaning my forehead onto the cool glass. The sun's just poked up over the buildings, its light new and orange and just sooo damn bright. Its rays push through the glass as if just to sink into my skin as I squint my eyes to look up and down the street. Other employees of stores along the strip are starting to arrive, coffees in hands and yawning largely. Some look brisk and fresh, while others… just look like they rolled out of bed and realized they had to be at work in five minutes.

Huh. Coffee.

I could probably use some.

I check the oven before heading into the office to start up a pot of coffee. Hopefully it'll be ready by the time Link gets back. I leave the office, and I suddenly feel sluggish, my restless night catching up to me. I take one more brief glance out the windows, Link's All Hallows' Eve decorations sparkling with the light, before I saunter out into the front. I turn on the television sink down into one of the bistro chairs up front and begin to flip through channels.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm going to end up watching that damn home and garden channel with the slap-happy couples. I mean, it's still too early for court TV!

Or is it?

I get up a couple of times to check the oven and proofer in a complete daze, and I even manage to pull the sandwich loaves out of the oven on time before gluing myself back down to my chair. I'm essentially in an utter zombie state, staring at the television, when the bells jingle behind me. Link walks in and pauses in his step, hesitating for a moment.

"Should I lock the door? I mean," he pauses, and he's probably rubbing the back of his neck (I just know it), "the sign _does_ say 'hours approximate', but…"

"Eh."

Link sniffs, thinking it over for a moment. "I'm just going to lock the door…"

"Eh."

He shuffles up beside me and grabs a chair. The donut bag plops between us on the table. He hands me my wallet, and I pocket it. Without even looking, I just reach in and grab one and automatically shove it into my mouth. "That was my long john," Link states.

"Mmphf."

Link reaches into the bag, taking one of my coveted Boston creams. I take it from his hand and shove that one in my mouth. That's right. I'm fucking double fisting this shit. Link digs back into the bag and snags a raspberry Bismarck.

"What're you watching now?" he asks me through bites of donut.

I swallow. "I forgot… I made coffee."

Link sneaks a sideways glance at me. "You forgot what you're watching, or that you forgot you made coffee?"

"The coffee."

"Oh."

"Fuck coffee. I didn't even know I was this hungry."

Link snickers at me.

"I'm watching this fat lady over there on the left sue her fat neighbor on the right."

"Why?"

"See, fat lady on the left was pre-diabetic, so she was supposed to go out and exercise to avoid actually getting diabetes." Another bite. Chew. "So she started walking the neighborhood," I say, my voice muffled. Swallow. "But then she gets all afraid because fat lady on the right's precious pooch is barking at her and doesn't want to go out and exercise – you missed the video by the way of the dog barking through a fence-"

Link comments idly, "How menacing."

"- And so fat lady on the left ends up with the dia-beet-us," I finish.

"Sooo… she's suing her neighbor because she got diabetes?"

"Basically," I say, gnawing down on the Boston cream. I lick a bit of chocolate off my lip. "But since you can't technically sue somebody over that, she's suing for cost of her deductible for her insulin and shit."

There's a beat of silence before Link says in disbelief, "And she really expects to fucking win this?"

"She's the one suing."

"What is wrong with people?"

I frown at him, swallowing the last bit of donut in my mouth. "What's wrong with you? You're neglecting your children."

His eyebrow quirks. "My children?" he barks.

As if I was motherfucking psychic – which I kind of have to think I am as of late – the timer for the proofer goes off, and Link peels himself up from the chair. He trudges over and opens the proofer.

"They're kind of puffy, but I dunno."

I lean over in my chair.

Link moves aside.

"Eh, another fifteen or so."

He shrugs and closes the door and resets the timer. He shuffles back to the table and plops down next to me again.

Before letting out a wide yawn, Link asks, "How the fuck do you do this every day?"

"I work ooouuut!"

He snorts and chuckles mid-yawn, which in turn makes him howl even more. He fingers claw at the table as his laughter subsides. "And you ask what's wrong with me?"

"I was kind of one of _those_ children too," I say lightly.

"Oh?"

"You know how in grade school everybody does a some fucking project on the legends?"

"Yeah?"

"Well like- oh! Look, she lost," I point out, and Link chuckles softly. "Anyway, like everybody does the Hero of Legend or the Princess of Destiny or they go off about one of the sages or even the great villain the hero fights – I did mine on Shad of Lanayru."

"Who?"

"He was a member of the Resistance during the time of the Hero of Light- your little beast story with All Hallows' Eve," I say, flapping my hand. Link snorts. "He was obsessed with studying legends about the sky." I shrug. "That's about all I remember, but he was badass!" I holler.

We just watch the television for a bit before I say, "We should really probably unlock the door."

"The chair's pretty comfy."

"But there's also coffee in the back."

"We should probably unlock the door," Link agrees.

Grudgingly, we both get up from the table. Link tosses the empty donut bag away and I unlock the door.

We quickly wash our hands and check on the bread in the proofer. "Yeah, they're done," I say.

As Link pulls the rack out, I shuffle around trays on the other racks to free one up and then drag the newly freed up rack over to the baker's table where Link's already making headway on the cuts.

"Dig in there! No mercy!" I tell him. "We're pirates!"

Link snickers.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Hey."

"What?" he barks.

"Why do you call me 'Captain' anyway?"

His eyebrows rise as he looks over at me, shoving a tray back in place. "What? You don't think you swear like a sailor?"

"I didn't say I didn't."

Link chuckles and then hands off a tray to me to put on the other rack, asking, "Why do you always have to have a space in between these?"

"It's fine to have them stacked up on every possible rung when they're proofing, but they expand even more in the oven while they're baking. I just like to give them some room."

I open the oven and shove both racks inside, instructing Link as I shut the door, "Thirty seconds and thirty minutes." Link follows, and the oven hisses with steam.

We both stare longingly at the oven as the racks slowly turn inside. Link heaves a sigh.

I say, "I'm so glad you talked me into closing on Wednesdays."

"No problem."

"I'm going to sleep like the fucking dead tonight."

Just as soon as we finally pull ourselves together and move to start the pan-up, the bells jingle behind us.

I turn, ready to greet, but my words fall flat.

Nabooru, in all her suit glory, strides up to the counter, smirking knowingly at me. Irritatingly enough, she still has that gleam twinkling in her eye too.

What a bitch.

* * *

><p>Sooo, that is my morning routine. Minus the donut run. We actually have donuts in my bakery, and I get yelled at if they're not out by six am by the higher ups when they didn't even arrive until like six-fifteen or something. They're not made in our bakery, they get shipped from the central bakery about forty-five minutes away every day. I hate that shit.<p>

Anyway. Yeah. From four am to about nine-thirty, this is what I do all by my lonesome. Then I grab lunch and start the pan-up. If I have time, I help bag my creations until twelve-thirty. Then I am freeeee!

I didn't even bother going back and reading through this. I do that routine EVERY damn day. I wasn't about to relive it in my mind a second time. Lol. Baking is a lot of juggling, and you have to be on top of that shit. My boss once pulled everything but the challah from the proofer and I didn't realize it. I had some monstrous bread later... before they shriveled down once the air bubbles popped.

So I hope this wasn't overly boring or anything and easy to understand. I tried to remember what it was like doing my first bake, but I'd already had experience at home doing almost the same thing. If there's something you don't understand, don't hesitate to let me know! Nabooru and Zelda will battle it out next chapter, and I may possibly go over the pan-up procedure. If you guys are interested...? Like, I do stuff every day, so I'm not really interested, but that doesn't mean you guys are. Let me know.

And I PROMISE, I will finish this story. My professor will never let me live it down.

This is getting long, but also! I don't know if you guys noticed, but I've been starting to attach certain adjectives to characters to give them a little more animalistic quality - Link being the forefront; he started it really. I've been tinkering with it, but I settled most definitely last chapter on Sheik as an owl. I think Zelda's like a cat...? I thought it kind of added an interesting quality to the main cast.

I'll shut up now. I shall see you all next time!

:I


	8. Enemies and Friends

Zombie Cake

8.0

Enemies and Friends

"Venox," I growl out, low and threatening. I march up, proud and defiant, to meet her at the counter. "What do you want?"

Nabooru Venox clicks her tongue, her hands on her hips as she raises her head. She sneers at me from the corner of her golden eye. "Is that any way to greet somebody?" she hisses at me. There's venom there, but no bite. Yet. Needle pricks spike up in my hand in warning. Her reddish brown hair flicks as she turns her gaze over my shoulder. She hasn't changed one fucking bit. _Shit_.

Back when I was working like a wage slave for Dragmire Corporation, Nabooru Venox worked as lawyer for the company. While she wasn't in my department, we still ended up as each other's sworn enemy during my brief time there, always clawing at each other's throats.

I can still hear the way she'd call me in that sickeningly faux sweetness. "Oh Zeldaaa! I just wanted to let you know that you need to amend these reports. Remember that case I emailed you about? Well, it seems the tide has turned, so if you could just take that off our financial statements…" Fucking bitch. She watched over me like a hawk while I was there, just waiting for the moment I fucked up to go scrambling to the rest of the offices to gossip about how much of a wasted space I was. She was the type of woman who scurried to spread rumors like wildfire, and then turn around to the object of said rumors and smile, white, prefect fucking teeth flashing.

Despite being in completely different departments and now in completely different towns, the hated rivalry between us still burned. At this moment, I'd give anything – _anything_ – to go straight for her jugular.

"I was hoping over the course of time you and I would be better strangers," I spit at her.

Her eyes slide back to me. "Hm?" Her eyelids bat at me in a sly manner. "What's that?" she asks me, her voice dripping with poisoned honey. "I'm here actually in the hopes that you and I could rectify that."

As I say, "I don't think so," I see her vision flick once more to lock onto Link. I swivel around, directing my glare at him. Link shoves his left hand into his pocket as his whole body begins to stiffen and become rigid under both mine and Nabooru's gazes. The look on his face tells me exactly what I was dreading. Nabooru was indeed the woman Link saw yesterday. "Link," I say sternly, "go start the pan-up," even though he has never done it, as he stiffens even more under Nabooru's watchful stare.

There's a look of desperation that flits across his face as he opens his mouth to contest my order, but he quickly covers it. Link nods in understanding of what I'm implying and quickly scampers off. I turn back, ready to face the cobra in front of me as the sound of the retarder's door opens and then snaps shut.

"What do you want?" I sneer at Nabooru once more, the needles in my hand expanding to knives digging into my skin and ripping at it to the bone. I grit my teeth and bear with the pain.

"Merely business," she states, now inspecting the nails on her tanned fingers. The Gerudo woman casts me another glance as the words slither out from her tongue. "I've been sent to quickly contact the owners of the buildings along this strip here, but I can't seem to get in touch with the one who seems to own the majority. You wouldn't happen to know of any way to contact her?"

Sneaky bitch.

"Sorry," I tell her, my voice flat and unmoving, "but I'm not exactly entitled to divulge that kind of information."

"Oh, that's a shame." Her nose crinkles. "Shame, too, that you're still such a stubborn jackass. I see you haven't changed."

She takes a brief look around the bakery, from where we stand by the register to the bread bar on my left and the pastry and cake cases on my right. Her eyes glaze behind me as well, almost as if her sight sees through my head, taking in the many counters and shelves. "Nice set-up you have here, Nohansen. You know, I really couldn't believe you just dropped your cushy job to come and open a joint like this. The accounting department gossiped for months about it." Gossip started and fueled by her spiteful ass.

"I'm not really interested in hearing about my old co-workers."

The Gerudo sniffs lightly in laughter. "I wouldn't either if I had workers like yours."

I frown at her. "You're still avoiding what I asked you before. What do you want?"

"Contracts," the tanned woman spits out simply.

"I'm not willing to deal with you," I reply harshly, "or your employer."

The lawyer in front of me merely smiles, the twinkle in her eye. My hand burns white hot as she says snidely, "Oh, but that's not for you to decide."

With that, Nabooru quickly turns on her heel and slithers out, ready for new prey.

I pull my phone out and call Impa up. The second I realize she's picked up, I cut her off in the middle of her "Hello?" and shout into it, "Impa! Don't do it!"

There's a pause as I huff into the phone. "Don't do what?" Impa asks.

I snarl as that smirk and sly look in her eye that Nabooru gave me when she first walked in flashes through my mind. "There was a woman in the bakery just now that's looking for a way to get in touch with you. She wants to make some sort of deal, I don't know what, but don't do it!"

"I'm not really following, Zelda," Impa admits.

Flustered, I tell Impa, "I don't even really know. I just don't have a good feeling about whatever it is that she wants."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Yeah, it's that hoity-toity lawyer for the company I worked for back in Castle Town," I say. "Dragmire's up to something out here, and he sent Nabooru to set up some type of contract. It has something to do with the strip, but she wouldn't really say."

"Nabooru, you say?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Then Impa reassures me, "I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it, Zelda. If it concerns the strip, I'm sure she'll be after Malo Mart too. Malo won't take too kindly to whatever corporate run she's on."

I snort. Indeed. The owner of Malo Mart had a few stores throughout Hyrule and prided himself on being the sole proprietor.

My hand prickles up again in reminder.

"Impa, I have to go," I tell her.

"Alright," she says lightly. "Don't worry about your little rival there. If she wants to talk to me, she will, and I'll put her in her place then."

"Thanks, Impa," I say before hanging up.

I stride over to the retarder after taking a quick glance at my hand. The back of my right hand is raised, red and furious, but the shape of the Triforce isn't as defined as it was last night. I had been hoping I was just delirious about it, but it's still there. I can see it! But maybe it's going away; it hadn't bothered me all morning until Nabooru came in. Actually, I hadn't even thought about it once all day until she showed up. Did it look like this earlier? I sigh at the thought and hope that Link doesn't make any comment about it as I pull the door open.

Link's sitting comfortably on the floor inside, both his hands shoved into the pockets of his apron.

"Isn't your ass freezing?"

"Yeah, somewhat," he says, the goofy smile returning to his face. His smile falls as his eyes roll up before his face settles into a stern look, his mouth set into a frown. "Or maybe I'm so numb, I've lost all feeling in my ass." His right arm shoots up, and he howls in fake desperation, "Help me! I broke my ass!"

I sigh and decide to humor him, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling up to stand.

"Something wrong?" I ask him as we step out of the retarder, noticing that his left hand has never left the pocket.

He glances over at me before hastily saying, "No! I'm fine."

We look at each other awkwardly, and, for a moment, I think Link is going to ask about who Nabooru is.

Instead, Link's face brightens a little, and he asks, "So, how do we do the pan-up?"

I stumble over myself, a little startled, but answer all the same. "Well, we need to go into the freezer and start pulling out all the dough we need to bake on Thursday," I tell him, leading him to the freezer. I open the door, and the icy blast from inside the freezer hits us immediately. "Basically, all there is to it is to decide how much of what we'll bake for the next day, and we'll set up the trays for it. You saw how it was set up when we started baking."

"Doesn't sound too hard," Link comments lightly. "Especially after doing all that juggling earlier."

I chuckle. "No, it's not."

**…**

Thank Nayru for gloves, because the damned mark still hasn't gone away. It's in the early afternoon now, and my hand is itching like crazy. It almost feels as though I have a troop of ants storming around on it. I knead the dough in my hands a little harder as I try to block out the rampant thoughts about my hand, but of course it stubbornly refuses to let me forget about it for even one millisecond. Blasted mark.

I glance over at Link at the mixer, working on making new buttercream icing, as he hums softly to himself. The mixer suddenly grinds away, drowning out Link's humming. I turn back to concentrate on the dough when the mixer cuts off and Link shouts my name from across the shop.

"What?"

"What did Mr. and Mrs. Steak name their son?"

_What_? I pause in kneading the dough and glance over my shoulder again. Link continues to toss a few ingredients into the mixer. "Is this another one of those stupid Popsicle jokes?" I ask him, my brow furrowed.

Link only chuckles in response.

I sigh, rolling out the dough. "I don't know. What?"

"Chuck!"

"Why did the dog bother everybody?"

"Dunno."

"It was a hound dog!"

I shake my head and roll my eyes when Link gives me another: "What has rings but no fingers?"

"Link," I whine.

"A telephone!" he chirps and then laughs. The mixer starts its rhythmic grinding again.

Turning back to my own work, I sigh and cut the last of the new dough into loaves and set them on a tray. What an idiot. Pulling the tray towards me, I brace myself for the weight and pick it up. I quickly hurry over to the freezer, and balancing the tray with one arm, I pull the door open and put the tray away. I shiver a little in the freezer, my breath coming out in white puffs, and scurry out.

I shut the door in time to hear, "Hey, what's up, man?"

It's Knil.

I walk out from behind the bread oven and proofer and into view of the front. Link, who's abandoned the mixer and is now leaning on the counter by the register, turns back towards me and shoots me a smile, looking sheepish as usual.

Knil laughs, harsh and bitter. "Not much," he says to Link as I approach him and Link at the counter. "I was just wondering if you were still around or if you decided to wander off again." Knil turns to me and gives me a "Hey!" before telling me, with a nod in Link's direction, "I send this guy out to get two things from Malo Mart yesterday, and he doesn't come back. I think I ought to tag him like a cow."

"I'm sorry," I apologize to him, "I kind of stole him."

"Oh," Knil says softly, his serious demeanor diminishing slightly in favor of a more humorous air. His eyes quirk under his black bangs, and there's a glimmer of knowledge behind those orbs as he says, "I see how it is." He sneaks a knowing look over at Link, who just stares blankly back like the dimwit he is. Oh Link.

"If you want the stuff you sent him out for, it's in my car," I offer Knil.

He shakes his head. "Nah. Just make sure he brings it home tonight." Knil looks over at the clock, the sudden spark of humor fizzling out. "I gotta head out. My lunch break's almost over."

**…**

"How many times do I have to apologize?" I whine.

Malon snorts at me from the other end of the line.

"Malon, really?"

Her laughter floats through the airwaves. "Fine, fine. I accept," she says, the giddiness and laughter still lacing her voice. She comments, "That's some freaky dream. What is that you have been eating lately?"

I sneer. "Sheik asked me the same thing."

She blurts loudly into my ear, and I immediately pull my phone away on instinct, "You told him?"

I put the phone back to my ear as I sigh, poking at my dinner cooking in the pan. "Yeah, and that was the worst mistake I've ever made," I say with a groan, shifting some rice around. I think to myself that is was probably the worst mistake next to telling Malon. Mm-hm. Yup. "He showed up at my house last night to ask me for a loan, and Link was here. He mentioned to Link how he could help us pick out baby names if we needed the help."

Malon cracks up; her laughter fills my ear, pearly and pure and just so fucking _loud_. My thumb clicks the volume down a couple of notches. After it subsides some, and I'm guessing she must have had to shed some tears in the process, I turn the volume up again as she guffaws, "What'd Link say?"

"I never told Link about the dream, so he had no idea what Sheik was talking about when he offered his help with picking out a name. Sheik didn't mention anything about babies specifically to him, thank Nayru, so poor Link mentioned something about the bakery being 'Skyloaf'."

Malon's set off in another wave of laughter, telling me, "Oh! This is one for the history books!"

"Shove it," I hiss into the phone as I turn the beef and broccoli in the pan over, but Malon continues to crack up over the phone. I set the spoon I was using down in the pan for a moment as I reach up and turn on the hood fan. I shout into the phone, "Malon! I can't hear you! What? I'm going into a tunnel!"

I hear her accuse me, "You're just making dinner," as I hang up on her.

At least with Malon, I don't have to worry about her showing up at my house unannounced. My brother on the other hand…

I could strangle him.

My skin on the back of my hand shivers in disagreement. What in the hell is going on with this thing? I drop the spoon, forgetting about my dinner as I look at my hand under the hood light. The redness has subsided some, but the skin is raised slightly and defiant. I run my thumb over it. It's almost like I've been scarred. Branded, almost.

Well, fuck you, Triforce. I will find him, I will shove a sea cucumber down his throat and I will strangle the life out of him. Or will the sea cucumber do that? Can one even fit in someone's mouth? I'll have to look this up. Or… actually, what would be really cool is if I fed Sheik to a goblin shark. Oh, that'd be interesting to see. Sheik floating in his watery abyss when the shark comes along and unhinges its own jaw to leap out and strike. Meet your maker, Sheik.

My phone goes off again, and I glance at the screen.

_Malon_.

My big mouthed friend obviously hasn't had enough juice on me yet. I ignore her call, and instead tend to my food, turning off the stove as the meat and veggies sizzle in the sauce. My stomach grumbles in want as I scoop some of the food out onto a plate. Oh yes, Tummy! We shall eat!

But then my phone blares again. Denied.

I sigh and set my plate down on the island before picking up the phone. "What?" I ask, annoyed, as I dig through a drawer next to the stove for a fork. "I'm trying to eat here," I say, and sit down on a stool at the island to eat.

"Well," Malon says sweetly to me, "I thought you might want to know I was going to make another trip out to Kakariko for All Hallows' Eve. What're you doing?"

"All Hallows' Eve is Sunday," I say plainly and shovel some food into my mouth. I say through some beef and rice, "I'm working."

"You're always working," she pouts.

"It's what I do."

"But it's Sunday," she points out in a whiney voice. I can almost see how her eyebrows waggle at that.

I catch her drift though. "I'm not going to stay up all night and party with you just because the bakery's closed on Mondays."

Malon says with slight disgust, "When did you get so old?"

"Malon, I'm going to be twenty-four in less than a month," I remind her, stabbing at the broccoli on my plate. "The only thing I really have to look forward to is that in a year, my car insurance will go down."

"Whatever," she scoffs. "I'll get you out of your little cave. You're always so serious; cut that shit out."

"I kind of have bills to pay."

Malon snorts. "And you tell me to shove it.

"I'll call you later about All Hallows' Eve. Are you doing anything at the bakery?"

"Link wants to hand out candy. He seems to really love this holiday for some reason. He's got the whole front of the shop decked out for it anyway," I say.

Malon laughs, "You did say he was like a big kid."

"Too big."

"Hey, it'd do you some good to follow his example once in a while."

"And eat cartoon macaroni?"

"I didn't say _that_. Anyway, enjoy your 'tunnel'; I hope it tastes good," Malon teases me before hanging up.

Does it ever end? I ask myself bitterly as I bite down on my food.

I glance around the U-shaped kitchen. The refrigerator hums softly off to the side. Yeah, this isn't lonely at all, eating dinner alone. In my kitchen. Alone. In my house. I place my hand on the stone countertop of the island. Cold. I look over to my right into the den area with the empty couch and chairs and the silent television, my palm still resting thoughtfully on the stone surface. The house is fairly open, perfect for those people who want to entertain, but I don't have people here. I barely have any friends now that I think about.

I mean, I have Malon, but she lives out in the countryside, a little ways south from Castle Town. I have Sheik in town, of course, but the bugger isn't somebody I really want to keep around all the time. There's Link, but anything that has to do with him is ammunition. And there's… well. I dunno. I have acquaintances, but that's not friend status or anything. Those are people I know a little about or hardly at all or even just know of.

Damn. High school really does force you to be a lot more social. Is this what my adulthood is going to be like?

I sit there on the stool in my empty, hollow kitchen in my empty, hollow house, mulling over my surroundings.

Dammit Malon.

Disgusted, I slide off my stool and pick up the pan on the stove. I throw my fork onto my plate and pick it up with my other hand. I stomp out of the kitchen and into the front hall to my door. I grab my keys, and balancing my dinner on my arm with the pan in hand, I open the door and step out into the night. I shut the door, and lock it, feeling the plate wobble on my arm. Praying that I don't lose my dinner, I free my key from the door. Successful, I grab the plate with my key hand and drag myself across my yard over to my neighbor's.

I stand in front of Anju's door with a slight dilemma. I think briefly on it before deciding that using my shoulder to ring her doorbell would be the best bet, and I wait. Eventually the door opens up and Anju's round face appears behind the storm door. "Zelda!" she exclaims, opening the storm door. "This is unexpected."

"Hey Anju. Want to do tea?" I ask her. "I brought dinner."

She stares uncertainly at me for a second before motioning me to come inside. She shuts both doors before leading me to the back of the house to where her kitchen is. I set the pan down on her stove and my dinner plate and fork on the kitchen table in the nook while Anju laughs softly to herself, "Well, I did promise you some tea." She quickly fills her tea kettle and starts a flame for it on the stove.

Anju pulls her own plate and fork out from her cabinets and spoons herself a plate of food. She breezes past her island into the bay windowed nook where I've settled in. She smiles warmly at me, despite my impulsive, random house call. "So, what have you been up to?" she asks as I poke my fork at my dinner. Again.

"Digesting beef and broccoli."

I see Anju's eyes flit nervously away from me briefly.

"Well, how have you been?" she asks, trying again to start conversation.

I shrug, and then I pause in my poking before sighing. "Alright. I just… I dunno. Do you ever feel old?" I ask her suddenly, waving a hand around in the air like an idiot. Like Malon. Ugh. Maybe I should take a vacation from her too. "Because like, I was talking to my friend Malon and she wants to go out and party and everything for All Hallows' Eve, but I'm like some sort of stick in the mud or something."

"What's stopping you from going out and partying yourself?" Anju asks, taking a small bite of the beef. "Is it work?"

"Not really," I say, rolling a piece of broccoli around my plate. "I just started thinking about my friends, and I don't really have any anymore. I remember talking to _so_ many people, especially in high school, and now it's like I have no social life. I don't really talk to people anymore. I don't know if it's because I'm working all the time or what."

My fork clatters to my plate. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel like you're a last ditch or something."

At this Anju brightens a little and chuckles at me. "It's okay," she says, smiling. "Really."

"So um… how's uh…" My hand waves through the air as I blankly try to grasp at straws in my mind. I settle on, "Whatshisface?"

Anju snickers and corrects me. "Kafei," she says lightly. "He's fine. He's in Termina right now, helping his parents out for a while. He promised me he'd be back before the Grand Illumination. Harvest Moon… I'm not so sure."

I chew on a strip of beef thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, Sheik and I made plans to spend Harvest Moon together. You're more than welcome to join us," I offer her. "And I don't mean that you'll be there just to keep us from killing each other. Honest."

Anju's chest lurches as she tries to hold in a laugh. The tea pot goes off, whistling through her kitchen. Anju hurriedly rises from her seat, her fork clattering off her plate and onto the table carelessly. She mutters a small "Oops!" as she trips over her own two feet on her way to the stove. She turns off the burner and pulls the kettle off the hot burner to a cool one. Reaching up, Anju flings open a cabinet door to grab two mugs for us. I turn my head and look out the large windows of her nook to marvel at the wonders of her backyard, cucco coop and all, as she clangs and clatters and drops a few things to prepare our tea.

Good old Anju.

At least the cucco are safely within the confines of her backyard today.

I turn my attention away from the window and the outside world when Anju sets the two steaming mugs onto the table.

**…**

Having Link around to help do the morning bake really is a blessing. The morning of All Hallows' Eve was enough to get him so excited, he was up and waiting for _me_ out front of the bakery for the first time. The pan-up is already done, and the last of the bread is hanging out in the oven, and there's still time before we open up that Link and I sit with the history network on the television, munching on donuts Link picked up from Malo Mart. Of course, the network will be jammed packed all day with shows like what we're currently watching that details the roots all of our modern day traditions as well as the legend behind the holiday. How we got to handing out candy from a man parading around the country as a beast, I still have no idea.

"I think you could probably make better donuts," Link comments.

I shake my head. "I'm here enough as it is."

I hear a rap on the glass behind us, and I crane my neck to see. "Really?" I blurt, popping up from my chair. My feet pound on the floor as I head over to the door. The lock twists and then clicks, and I pull the door open.

I sneer, "We're not open yet, _ma'am_."

"Oh! That's such a terrible tragedy, because I was really hoping you could make me a cake within the next ten minutes. Is that still possible?"

"I can arrange some half-eaten donuts in the shape of a cake," I offer, stepping aside.

Malon strides in. "Oh, can you tier that?" she asks, flipping her vibrant hair in mock glamor as I shut and relock the door. I chuckle at her boldness.

Then: "Hellooo!" Malon scuttles over to Link.

Link sinks a little in his chair. "Um, hi. Donut?"

"I'm good," she says in that airy way of hers, and she steals my seat. "Especially with this chair!" she exclaims. "Zelda, you didn't tell me you were an official butt-warmer."

"You're lucky it's my butt and not some strangers," I growl fiercely at her, dragging another chair over to get a view of the history show. I plop down and then chuckle to myself, noticing that we've effectively sandwiched poor, shy Link. His eyes dart between us as we banter along.

Malon crinkles her nose in distaste. "That's always the worst," she comments nasally. "It's pretty creepy actually."

"What are you doing here?" I ask her exasperatedly.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives me a small "Hmpf!" as she crosses her arms. "I told you I was coming!" she accuses.

"You said you were coming into town, not that you were taking Skyloaf by storm," I reply, continuing to make headway on my donut. Fuck yeah, breakfast.

She shrugs, indifferent, and quickly takes in what's going on in the bakery. "So how's the baking going?"

"Good, surprisingly," I admit. "Who would have thought you could teach a dumb dog a new trick or two?"

Malon snorts when she tries to hide her snicker, but all I get from Link is a whiny "Hey!"

"Anyway!" I holler, cutting Malon off. "Link, Malon. Malon, Link. Good?"

"Almost," Malon coos, her eyes rolling up, and all her previous comments about Link suddenly flit through my mind in a blur of film.

"Cut the crap."

Link darts glances between us before he suddenly pushes his chair back, effectively breaking free from the sandwich. "I'm going to check on the bread!" he announces loudly, popping up from the chair, and he scuttles off away from us.

Malon tsks under her breath and then stares pointedly at me.

"What?"

Her mouth thins and she asks, pointing at my hand, "What happened there?"

"What? What're you-"

Oh _shit_.

On the back of my right hand, while the mark itself is still indistinguishable, it has considerably reddened again, as if the moisture in my hand was sucked right out. The mark itself, however, is still raised somewhat and has now angrily bubbled up, like I was burned.

Going off on that thought, I quickly lie, saying, "Oh, I was cooking and had the heat on the stove set too high. The vegetable oil I had in the pain kind of shot out on my hand."

Malon stares harshly at me. She's not even in the slightest convinced about my story, but shrugs her shoulders. She turns away, not saying any more on the subject, for which I am grateful. I sigh softly to myself in relief and stuff both of my hands in my apron pockets.

"Sooo, what do you plan on doing all day?"

Malon shrugs, scratching lightly at her thin nose. "I could hang out here," she throws out.

I roll my eyes. Great. "Sure. Leech onto me, why don't you?"

Malon chuckles. "What if I help out some?" she suggests, placing her elbows on the table in front of us. She plops her chin into her hands. "Besides, guising along the strip starts in the afternoon right? I wanna see some cute kiddie costumes."

"Yeah," I puff. "They're starting earlier this year for some reason."

"Little kids, man."

I roll my head back and call out, "Hey Link!" His head perks up from behind the counters. "Let's go! Malon says she can run the place today!"

"Zelda!"

**…**

With Malon as an extra hand, the rest of the morning goes by smoothly into the late afternoon when the children of the town begin to appear along the strip, costumed and all. Their laughter floats along the streets as they hurry after friends and parents in the growing darkness outside.

"I kind of hate living out in the country when the holidays come around," Malon sighs wistfully, looking out the store window. "It always feels kind of lonely." She pokes at her take-out of chicken teriyaki and rice with a chopstick, eventually impaling a piece of meat.

"That's rude, you know," I say lightly, taking a seat next to her.

It's been a fairly slow day with the holiday and everything, but today and the next couple of weeks is a good time to stock up before the Harvest Moon rolls around. Usually about this time, Link starts to clean up, but with the three of us and the general slowness of the day, he hangs back, staring out the window with Malon and me. The cup in his hand moans as he tugs on the straw, chewing on it.

"Ah!" Malon exclaims, pointing out the window. "Look at that one!"

"Which one?"

She points again.

"Malon," I groan. "We don't have the same perspective as you."

"At least I never eat all the candy before today," she accuses. I feel my face flush, and Malon is set off in a fit of giggles. "You did! Didn't you?"

"Like two weeks ago," Link offers.

I huff at him, glaring. "Some help you are."

Link suddenly perks up, and pushes his face to the glass, the ice in his drink clinking and shuffling within the cup. "You're cleaning that," I tell him as a little ring of fog blows up around his face.

He backs away from the window, throwing his cup down on the bistro table in front of Malon and me. "I see Midna!" he hollers excitedly as Malon and I blurt, "Who?" He quickly turns on his toes and throws open the front door, bells clanging wildly. He howls out into the early evening, "HEY."

A girl with red hair amazingly brighter than even Malon's flaming waves, swivels on the spot and sees Link. She smiles and waves before turning to her friends. She converses with them briefly, and even smacks one of the taller ones, before skipping across the street to the bakery.

"Don't you have work to be doing?" she says, poking Link in the stomach with her bag in tow as he steps back to let her through the door.

He frowns and swats at her hand. "I'm not a dough boy."

"Sure," she dismisses and waves her hand at him.

Link scowls down at her briefly before looking back at Malon and me. "Guys, this is Midna, my neighbor. This is Zelda and Malon," he introduces, point at each of us respectively.

Upon hearing our names, Midna gives us a knowing smirk and a "Ooh-oooh!" and Link quickly swats at her head lightly. "Hey!" she screeches, clutching the giant stone-like helmet on her head, her flaming ponytail flying. Sneering at him, she attempts to land a kick on Link with her short limbs, but Link deftly sidesteps her.

Midna is about launch another attack on Link when Malon sweetly calls out to her, "Hey Midna! What're you supposed to be?"

Midna halts her assault and turns back to Malon. "I'm the Twilight Princess," she says proudly, puffing out her chest.

"Twilight Imp," Link mumbles as he shuffles past her.

Midna growls at him before launching herself onto his back with a battle cry, abandoning her bag of candy on the floor. Link yelps in surprise and bucks in attempt to pry the little girl off, but she holds fast to the collar of Link's shirt and apron. "Onward, Doggie!" she shouts, one fist raised victoriously.

"Get off me!" Link howls, scrabbling at his back in an attempt to claw her off of him.

Laughing, I rise from my chair and enter the fray. Just as Link spins with his back to me, I quickly grapple onto Midna and pry her off of him, saying, "Let's just get you some candy and send you on your way, alright?" The girl squirms in my grasp a little until I set her feet down onto the ground. She huffs, glaring as she crosses her arms.

Malon picks up Midna's candy bag and holds it out to her. She pauses for a second before taking it from Malon's hand, muttering a small "Thank you" to the other redhead. I hold out to Midna our candy bowl and she takes a few pieces, giving her thanks again to Malon and me. For Link, she sticks out her tongue and then hurries out the door, her giggles dancing in the air.

"So she's your neighbor?" I tease Link.

He snorts. "I swear she can be the devil incarnate."

"Hey, Link," Malon calls out, catching his attention. "Zelda and I are going out partying with Sheik later. Wanna come?"

"Malon!"

Wait. When was Sheik in on this?

Malon shoots me a wry grin, and I scowl back at her, knowing exactly what devious, devilish ideas are going through her mind.

"Uh… sure. Why not?"

Fuck.

I turn back to look out the window.

Midna, come back!

* * *

><p>So this took way longer than it should have, and I left you guys on a breather chapter, so I'm sorry. I will admit, I got caught up on a new story idea. The first chapter is about halfway finished. In a nutshell, it's set in a sort of bygone, industrialized Hyrule... like twenties looks and technology, but the thirties depression. The racestribes of Hyrule have been united after the monarchy was dissolved, so like this story with Ruto, no one is full fledged Zora or Goron or anything, the races have begun to mix, but the new majority is the race of humans. The Hylians are discriminated against blah blah. That sort of thing. But it starts out right when the president (Ghirahim) makes an address outlawing all forms of magic, which completely devastates the country. Zelda, hearing the address over the radio in a diner rushes to Lon Lon Ranch to inform Malon what's happened when she comes across a troupe of carnies setting up on the outskirts of town and informs them of the news. There she meets Link, a man whose soul possesses a doll that will only operate for a certain amount of time when a coin is inserted in him. It was fucking nuts, guys. My first thought on this was literally, what if Link was a coin-operated doll? The story is much more serious and darker in tone than this one, although Link seems to have some good humor to him. I dunno. I was thinking of making it romancey as well. Sound interesting? Have potential? Would you read it? Should I finish writing the chapter? I kind of like it... simply because I thought it would be funny to have Link as a doll.

Anyway, second reason it took me forever to get this posted. I fee like crap guys. I caught some massive cold, and I've just started feeling better than I have in days. (I miss work...) Like I literally fell asleep with my face on a bowl of Spaghetti-O's on Saturday (which I'm totally putting in this story later) and had the whole outline of the bowl on the left side of my face and all that jazz. I'm allergic to an ingredient in cold medicines (have yet to figure out what exactly), and I end up having vertigo and then vomiting up everything before I pass out if I take it. It's a nine hour ordeal usually. So I'm on my own on this, and I'm going back to bed and sleeping this shit off after I jack myself with more Vitamin C. I didn't really get a chance to respond to your guys' PM's or reviews. Maybe later. But I'm always happy to hear some feedback, and if I didn't respond, I appreciate you taking the time and I'll try to later.

I don't think I've ever mentioned this, but you guys should look up the story about a bakery that's selling TSA approved cupcakes. It hit the news about a month ago, and I thought it was absolutely hilarious.

Aight! Goodnight moon! I will see you all on the bright! And hopefully with less snot and nausea.

:p


	9. In Sickness and in Health

Zombie Cake

9.0

In Sickness and in Health

The music pounds away in my ears as I stare off blankly at the assortment of taps in front of me. With the night in full swing, the All Hallows' Eve party going on around me shifts and moves like an ant colony in the dim lights of the bar. The bartender floats back and forth, and he, at one point, casts a glance in my direction. His brow furrows and he stuffs a rag into his back pocket. "Can I get you anything?" he asks, barely audible over the music and the laughter of shouts of the crowd behind me. His beard twitches, and his face is cast in shadow.

"No… I'm fine," I reply.

He shrugs. "Holler if you do." His fingers deftly slide into the empty shot glasses I'd laid out for him, and with a whip of his wrist, they disappear with him.

I nod and turn my gaze back down to the empty shot glass in front of me that I still clutch for dear life in my hand. Oh Nayru, what have I done? I've obviously forsaken her wisdom on this. It's only my third shot – hell, only my third drink - and I'm starting to feel queasy. What is wrong with me? What the hell was I thinking?

Oh right. Free shot.

Let's face it; having boobs is good for something. It's really not that hard to get a guy to buy a drink in a bar. The best part is, I don't even have to say one word to them. I'm a manipulative, conniving bitch. I know.

Sighing, I finally let go of the shot glass in my hand, and I swivel around on the stool and glaze over the party. I spot the guy the bartender had pointed out to me earlier as the one that bought my last shot. He catches my eye, smirking at me and inclines his head. Creep-o. My eyes slide over the party once more and then down the bar. Malon and Sheik are sitting on the other end, past the bend, and are in deep conversation. Link is nowhere to be found. Typical. The dunderhead wandered off again. Ignoring the creeps staring me down, I slide off of the bar stool, and I saunter outside into the night with my belly sloshing in nauseous waves.

Cool autumn air hits me face. It's crisp and refreshing as it caresses my cheeks. I push past the bouncers of the bar and walk around out back behind the building into the lit alleyway. I stumble as far as I can away from the sight of bouncers or any other people before bracing myself against the brick wall of the bar. I breathe deeply for a second as my vision spins. My stomach churns, angry at my deception. I'm sorry, Tummy.

I heave. It spatters out of my mouth and slaps the ground and the brick wall. I hiss. Acidic. It just fucking _burns_. I breathe for a second and close my eyes. I lean my forehead against the cool brick.

Oh thank you, Farore.

"I didn't take you for a lightweight."

"Shut up," I mumble.

Link's laugh cuts through the air and drills itself into my ear.

I sigh and pull away from the wall. I straighten and look around for him. A circle of orange flares up next to his face. I drag myself over to him and sit down next to him on the stoop in front of the back door of the bar. I rub my stomach. "I drank a shot of bourbon," I tell him, swallowing the burning lump in my throat.

"And?"

"Bourbon doesn't mix well with Chinese," I tell him. "Or burritos." I pause, thinking it over. "Actually, not even light beer mixes well with burritos for me."

Link chuckles, his head drooping slightly. He pulls himself back up and the light flashes again. "Feel better?"

"Yes and no. Fucking burns ten times worse coming up than going down."

He comments, "Smart idea to go puke where the bouncers won't see you though." Orange flashes before fading away in small bursts of light, exploding from his fingers like a firework. "You know, at least if you throw up all the liquor, you don't end up hung over in the morning."

"I would never live it down with Sheik or Malon," I scoff, "if they knew three shots made me vomit.

"I shouldn't have eaten Chinese. Actually, I shouldn't have drunk that bourbon; I'd be perfectly fine otherwise."

Link snickers, amusement glinting in his eyes. He shakes his head to get his shaggy bangs out of his face, the green beanie still on his head from work. "Getting dudes to buy you drinks isn't as cracked up as it's made out to be, huh?"

"How'd you know it was free?"

But instead of answering me, Link just barks out a harsh laugh.

"Since when do you smoke?"

"Since when do you?"

My eyes roll up. I say skeptically, "You know this… how?"

Link's smile widens as he laughs, flicking the cigarette in his fingers, "You were buying cigarettes when I met you at Malo Mart, remember? I don't think I've seen you smoke since though."

"I don't think I have," I say, scrunching my nose at the memory of the day we met. I spit, "Fucking Ingo."

"What is a snake's favorite school subject?" Link asks. Great. Another one of his stupid Popsicle jokes in which of course I won't know the answer, even though it's fairly obvious in retrospect and overly corny.

I sigh. "I don't know, Link. What?"

"You won't even guess?"

I sniff, and take a stab in the dark. "Geography?"

Link snorts and shakes his head. "History." Oh. Of course. Hurr Hurr. Link gives me another one: "Why is music like a fish?"

I take a moment to mull it over, even if just to humor him. Finally, I say, "Scales?"

Link just chuckles. I guess I got it? Finally. I finally got one. I think my life is complete.

He then sucks in a breath and then stamps out the cigarette on the ground. He pushes himself off of the stoop and holds out his hand to me. "Come on," Link says lightly. "Let's go back inside. Try and score some beer instead of shots of these guys for the rest of the night."

I take his hand, mumbling, "Water first."

We walk back out and around to the entrance where the bouncers scrutinize us for a second before remembering us from earlier. They let us pass through, and Link opens the door for us. Muted music instantly becomes crystal clear as I lead the way inside, Link trailing behind me. I feel him following me back to the bar part way, but by the time I reach it, I glance behind and see that he's not there. Slightly annoyed, I slip into an open seat next to Sheik.

Malon leans over and hollers over the noise, "Hey Zelda!

"I'm gonna go use the bathroom; watch my drink!"

Sheik pulls her drink over to us as Malon sidles away through the crowd. He turns to me, rusty eyes flashing. "Where you been?" he asks, an eyebrow popping up on his forehead.

"Outside."

The bartender slides a shooter up to me. I frown and give him a questioning look, and he only jerks his head in a direction. "It's on that guy," he says, and then he turns away. Sheik and I look over and spot none other than Pompadour. I roll my eyes. Great. He's here. At least he's not looking over at us right now. What a meathead. That's exactly what he is. Buff and stupid. I do have to wonder how much hair gel he has to put in that ridiculous do of his every day.

I pick up the shooter and sniff. The glass grates against the wood counter as I slide it over to Sheik. Frowning, I tell him, "I don't want it."

Sheik accepts my drink. He scrunches his nose, and then scratches the tip. He gives the bobbing crowd a look over, and then shrugs when he turns back around to lean on the bar. "You don't give him enough credit, I think," Sheik says to me, leaning into my ear.

I turn my head to direct my voice in his ear. "Who? Pompadour?"

I allow him to down half the shooter before poking him for a response. He smiles and chuckles to himself. "It's Groose, by the way. And no, not him. I'm talking about Link," he says, shaking his head. He throws back the rest of the drink.

"Why do you say that?"

"You call him a numbskull, but I think he knows more than he lets on. He's got this look in his eye," Sheik throws out. He squirms a little on his stool trying to find the right word. "Feral almost," is what he decides on.

"You think he's perceptive?" I ask, waving the bartender back over.

Sheik shrugs. "Just a feeling I get about him."

I scowl at him and then swivel to talk to the bartender. "A beer. Any beer, you pick. Something good, but no more straight liquor," I tell him. "And a water please."

He smiles and nods at me, saying, "Alright."

"Malon's been gone a while," I comment. "I hope she's not getting sick."

"I think she'll be fine. Probably lost in the crowd," Sheik says lightly.

He stares thoughtfully down at his hands, and then says, "You never told me what you thought about Ruto."

I frown, racking my brain for a Ruto. "The Zora girl?" I ask, settling on the image of a high maintenance woman with jet black hair.

"Yeah. The one that's friends with Groose."

"Who?"

"Pompadour."

"Oh," I scoff. I chew on my lower lip for a bit before I decide on just being frank. "I dunno, Bro. She seemed pretty shallow, although I can see why you would dig her in the looks department. What happened to her? I don't think you've mentioned her since we went to Romani's."

Sheik chuckles. "Because after hanging out with her alone after you left, I kind of got the same ideas about her."

"Still hot though?" I offer.

"Still hot."

I tell him firmly, "Don't tell me anything else."

"Hey!" Malon pipes up from behind, startling both Sheik and me. She slaps our backs heartily as the bartender plops down two glasses in front of me. I nod in thanks to him, and Malon reaches over Sheik's shoulder for her beer and settles back in on her stool next to him.

Three more beers (two free) and mindless banter between us three later, I announce that I'm breaking the dam and hop down from the stool. The beer jiggles in my stomach, and I pause for a moment to get used to the sensation as the room and crowd begin to shift a little. I step forward, suddenly feeling like I'm on the moon with no gravity as my feet push off the ground. Pushing through the crowd to get over to the bathrooms, I notice that many of the people there are in costume as well. I must stick out like a sore thumb wearing my regular old jeans, t-shirt and sweater. Zelda Nohansen: the anachronism.

I stumble out from the crowd, and straighten myself as I pull the door to the bathroom open. My shoulder is suddenly jerked back, and I yelp in surprise. Laughter worms its way into my ear and I turn to see Link. "Where have you been?" I shout over the music as the bathroom door bursts open. Drunken giggles filter through the air as one girl pushes past me, shoving me forward. I stumble into Link, and he helps keep me steady as I glare daggers at the girl. She gives me a smug sneer in return.

Just as I'm about to open my mouth and hand that bitch her ass on a platter, Link tightens his grip and pulls me closer. He leans down to my ear, saying, "I want to go."

Startled, I momentarily forget about Super Bitch, and say, "Me too." I frown, realizing that Link distracted me while she slipped away. "You son of a bitch," I spit at him, but he only laughs.

I squirm a little in his arm. "I have to pee."

"Then go," he laughs, letting me go. "I'll wait."

Immediately, I turn and burst into the restroom, ready for some relief. Some. That's the shitty thing about drinking, after the first piss, you can't fucking stop.

Plowing back on through the door, eager to get the hell out of here, I make my way over to Link, who is unfortunately in the company of Pompadour. Pompadour towers over Link, in both height and size. I have no idea what he's saying to Link, but all Link does is reply dryly to him, both fists in his hoodie pocket, "Nice hair."

This makes the meathead puff up in anger, and he lurches forward in an attempt to intimidate Link. It doesn't work, and Link doesn't budge one bit. "I'll have you know that this is the finest pompadour in town!" the meathead retorts. See, I knew I called him 'Pompadour' for a reason. Whatever his real name is. Link doesn't respond, his face set into a hard, glaring frown.

Deciding to ignore Signor Meathead and his butt chin, I tug on the sleeve of Link's hoodie. "Let me pay my tab."

He turns abruptly to face me, the hard look on his face melting. "Oh? Actually failed to get a man to pay for everything?" he jokes.

"Shut up and wait here," I growl, but I fail to put a damper on Link's good humor.

Pompadour seems to be doing it well, however, and Link turns back to him, snarling and emitting the same effect on the idiot with the stupid do.

Not wanting to get in the middle of whatever beef those two have – how'd they even know each other? – I slip past and disappear back into the crowd. Someone steps on my foot as I squeeze through the throng of people, and I grunt in pain. Fuck! Is the whole damn town in this place tonight? I make it back to Sheik and Malon in one piece. I shout over the small distance between us as the bartender brings me my tab, "I'm leaving!" I slap down with the receipt the bartender gives me some money, telling him that I don't need any change.

Malon frowns at me. "Where are you going?"

"Home! Fuck this noise."

Sheik shrugs. "We're still eating next week, right?"

"I'm kind of sick of your face," I tell him.

Sheik only smiles sheepishly as he turns away from me.

I wave goodbye to them and then begin my deadly journey back to the washroom up towards the front of the bar. I suck in a breath before bravely strutting my shit through the hazy, swirling crowd, pushing people aside as I see fit. Move it, ho! I want to leave! When I see Link, I march right up to him and drag him off by his left arm. He shoots Pompadour another glare, his right arm flailing out of the pocket as I drag him through the crowd to the front door, but he stubbornly keeps his left fist jammed inside his hoodie.

"What's your problem?" I ask him as my right hand begins to prickle again. _You_!

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

I don't let go of Link until we're outside and past the bouncers. I stop. "I can't drive," I tell Link. "How much have you had?"

"I had two beers a while ago. I should be okay."

I unhook my keys from my belt and press it into his hand. "You drive, but stop by the store. I want more beer. And we need food."

"And you didn't want to party," he chuckles.

…

I groan as the shrill of my phone calls out to me. Oh Din, Nayru and Farore. Sitting up, I take a moment to gather my surroundings. I'm in the guest bathroom, leaning against the tub by the toilet. My skin prickles against the cool tile under my legs. My phone reminds me again that I'm needed, and I pat my butt but don't feel it in my pocket. I glace around the bathroom and then see it on the floor next to the toilet.

"Hello?" I grumble, rubbing my eyes.

"Well, don't you just sound perky," Impa teases me.

"Hey Impa."

She snickers on the other end as I sigh. "I just wanted to let you know, your little friend Nabooru Venox came by at the end of last week."

"And you waited until now to tell me?" I exclaim, suddenly alert. "What'd she want?"

"It seems the Dragmire Corporation is interested in buying land in Kakariko. I'm assuming they want to build something, and the strip is a prime location."

"So basically, the contracts she was telling me about are to buy out the strip?"

"Mm-hm." Impa sniffs. "I spoke with Malo, and he's rallying the other owners of the buildings to prevent them from being sold- don't worry, Zelda!" she says hastily. "I wouldn't do it for the world. And you know Malo sure as hell won't."

I chuckle. "What about the others though?"

"Well, think about it. If Dragmire wants the strip, it's an all or nothing kind of gamble. I sent Ms. Venox packing; she'll have to find another spot in town for whatever project Dragmire has in mind. The ass."

I laugh and sigh in relief. "Thanks Impa. I can always count on you."

"Of course, dearie. Now don't be late on rent!" she warns before hanging up.

Thank the goddesses.

I lean back against the tub and glaze over the bathroom. Well. My stomach is all bleeeuuugh, but other than that, I feel fine. I glance at the toilet. The lid and seat is up. Unusual. I take a peek into the bowl. "Ah, that's why," I mumble flatly to myself. What I'm assuming is my vomit is all over in the bowl of the toilet. Reaching up, I pull the handle and flush it down. I sit there for another minute or two before getting up.

Oh!

Too fast.

I whip back around and collapse in front of the toilet. I dry heave a bit, before just shoving a finger back into my throat and force myself to upchuck. I cough low and deep, burning my throat and chest, as the last bit of vomit comes up. I wait a minute, still leaning over the toilet, and force myself to throw up again.

"Most attractive."

I jump. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Link chuckles as he strides into the bathroom. "You had me drive you to get more beer and food and then take you home. You don't remember?" he asks, amused as he flushes my puke for me.

I frown. "No.

"Wait. Yeah. I remember that."

"Feeling better at least?" he asks, pulling me up from the floor so I can wash off.

"After that, yeah," I admit, talking about my vomiting. Link laughs softly to himself and disappears from the bathroom, telling me he'd get me a glass of water and some bread. I start to wash off my hands and face when I notice something in the mirror. My sweater's missing, the shirt I'm wearing wasn't the one I had on last night, and my shorts are definitely not the jeans I had on. "YOU CHANGED MY CLOTHES?" I roar.

Laughter swims through the house.

Damn. I drank way too much.

…

As the holidays near, with the pressure of the Harvest Moon looming, I still eat dinners with Sheik on Sundays, as we agreed to. On any of these occasions, we refrain from talking about Ruto, Pompadour Whatsit and Link. There's a sense of off-limits that comes from talking about them when we're trying to have a good time. Although I've begun to have a hunch that there's something between him and Malon, I don't say anything since he's finally given me the courtesy of laying off my relationship with my employee. Well, not totally, but his teasing certainly has lessened. When he does ask about the bakery though, he pointedly leaves Link out and promises me continually that when he's off from the pawn shop, he'd help me out for the holidays when I needed him. Which I will. Very, very much so.

Malon has offered the same kindness, saying she convinced her father, Talon, to let her slide on ranch duties to spend the holidays in Kakariko. I tell her constantly that I'd put her up for the month or so she would be here, but she won't have it. "Well, where else are you going to go?" I holler at her over the phone, but she refuses to budge or tell me anything else. I'll grumble, and we'll go back to bickering about some topic or another.

Every now and then, I'll pop over at Anju's house after work. I don't know whether it's to ease my loneliness at my lack of friends or what, but her company certainly has been nice. We'll cook dinner together, with poor Anju burning herself on several occasions, and have tea. I have to wonder if we'll continue to do this when her boyfriend, Kafei, comes back from Termina.

Link and I also take more time outside of work to spend time together, and sometimes, I bring him over to Anju's. It's still kind of weird, I admit, being the boss but also being a friend. It's strange to think that we're co-workers when we stay up all night drinking or passing out in the middle of movies on the other's bed or couch. How the hell does that work? But Link doesn't really get into trouble, and it's not like I can really favor him. Seriously, who else is there to favor him over? A wee little skulltula hiding in the corner of the office?

I'm actually excited now about Harvest Moon coming next week, with the makeshift feast I'll be having with everyone (never mind all the craziness we'll deal with come Tuesday and Wednesday). It was originally going to be just Sheik and me, but then with Anju being alone, I roped her in. And Malon's coming into town for that specific reason, and then the offer just ended up getting extended to Link and Knil. Link seemed pretty excited for it when Sheik and I asked him, but Knil only mumbled something about working. Huh.

What I'm not excited about is waking up with a damn cold in full force. It started out as just a scratchy little throat yesterday and I felt fine, but the second I wake up from sleep, shit just hit the fan for me. Awesome.

I fumble around in the dark, sniffling miserably and completely devoid of any sense of time, trying to make my way from my bed to my bathroom. My hand slides across the wall in the bathroom until I feel the little nub of the light switch, and I flip it on. I'm instantly blinded by the lights blaring down on me, and I wait a few seconds before stumbling over to the toilet. I sit down on the lid and start unraveling the toilet paper and honking snot into it. It's like a never ending river of mucus up there; it's ridiculous.

As I throw the snot filled paper away, I begin hacking deep, burning coughs. The hollow sounds of my coughs echo in the bathroom. Thank the goddesses that the bakery is closed today, and I don't have to worry about it one bit. For today at least. My coughs cease for a brief moment before the second wave of attack comes. I grab more toilet paper and begin honking more snot into it.

This sucks. I never get sick. Well not never, of course, but I honestly can't recall the last time I've been sick. It's certainly felt like forever. Din, this sucks.

Another coughing fit strikes me, and a wave of fire rolls through my hand, scorching my thin, sensitive skin.

I glance down at my hand. The mark is visible now. Three triangles arranged just like the Triforce. Little lines branch around the bottom portion, flowing upward, in an intricate and delicate design and outlining the symbol on my hand. It's no longer raised or angry or itchy or anything. It was like I was suddenly branded by the goddesses, and it spent a few weeks trying to heal. Now it's nothing more than a tanned image on my skin, like henna ink.

I suck up snot pathetically back into my nose as I pull more toilet paper off the roll. I should buy a shit ton of lotion tissues. At this rate, I'll rub my poor, damn nose raw.

I shut off the light, now blinded by darkness, and I step carefully back into my bedroom. My hands flail out as I feel around wildly for anything familiar. My dresser. I slide my hand along the top edge and walk confidently next to it until it ends. Then I turn left and flail my hands again to find the edge of my bed. There it is! I trace it down the side to where I've throw the covers back and then slip back in.

Immediately, my nose is clogged again. Fuck.

I try to breathe through my mouth, but the dryness burns my throat and my chest where the coughing fits have taken their toll.

Footsteps echo in the hallway to my bedroom. "Damn, you sound horrible," Link grumbles in the dark as I start up a new wave of coughing. "You better not give that shit to me."

"You're as healthy as ever, jackass," I retort once the coughing has subsided, jealous of Link's currently amazing health. I rub my right hand absently as I try to sniff up the mucus threatening to leak out of my nose.

The bed bounces as my friend flops himself on to it. A hand swats itself into my forehead and rests there for a bit. "You're burning up," Link says, pulling his hand away. "You sure you're alright?"

"It's just a damn cold. I'll get over it," I mumble miserably. As if a string connected from the symbol on my hand and up my arm to my heart, I feel the symbol tug at my heart. "Not the end of the world, right?"

What? Is this _your_ doing?

"Remind me," Link says getting up from the bed, "I have something to show you tomorrow… today. If you're feeling up to it."

"Alright."

He moves away, feet stomping on the wooden floor, to the bathroom. As Link walks into the bathroom, the light switches on momentarily until Link's tall, lanky form hits the threshold again, and it switches off. I hear him move closer in the dark, and then the bed sinks as he leans over, saying, "Here. Take this."

"Thanks," I mumble, taking the wad of toilet paper. "Is Sheik still here?" I ask in between honks of snot.

The bed pops back into place. "He left a while ago. Something about not wanting to catch your nasty-ass cooties."

"Oh! Cooties!" I snort. "How elementary, Watson."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that goes," Link chuckles at me.

"Shove it," I say dully. I roll over and lazily toss the used wad of toilet paper onto my floor. "I may be doing a lot of snorting at the moment, but it ain't cocaine," I joke, which elicits another laugh from Link.

I sigh and curl up under my covers. "This better go away before next week, otherwise we're fucked out the ass."

"I'm sure it will," Link says. "Give it the week, and you'll be back to your cranky, sailor-swearing self."

"So I'm 'cranky', huh?"

"Stubborn mule, whichever you'd like."

"I'll take hibernating bear," I tell him, and I snuggle further into my covers. "Later."

…

I think I might have just popped an ear drum with that last blow of my nose there. Great. I wipe my nose and swat at Link's arm as we walk down the strip. "Bag," I demand, and he holds open the plastic bag from the convenience store for me. I toss my tissues into it. I have to say, he's being very gentlemanly, carrying my bag for me. My bag of snotty tissues. I sniffle some more as I poke at my tragus some with my finger. I think I'm okay.

The convenience store Malo Mart starts the strip from the inner side of town. From there, little boutiques and assorted shops line this historic street to the outskirts of town. There are many different businesses along the strip besides just retail shops. There's a deli, a barber, a florist, an ice cream parlor and even a good sized arcade; there wasn't a more perfect spot to set up a bakery. Next to what the locals dub Restaurant Lane, where you basically can find every damn restaurant in town along (including Romani's), the strip is the biggest pull of business in this little town.

I think what I like most about the strip are the buildings themselves. They were built around the last turn of the century, and preserved outside to look every bit of it.

"Where are we going?" I ask Link as the boardwalk begins to slope down Kakariko's hillside.

"You'll see," Link reassures me. "Just be patient."

"I'm a cranky sailor, remember?"

"Just wait," he says grimly. I dunno if I like this.

I readjust my scarf around my neck and clutch my box of tissues tighter to me. "Maybe we should have just driven."

"And miss this beautiful weather?"

I respond flatly, "Link, it's going to rain sometime today. Do you not see how these clouds are all grumpy and grey?"

He chuckles some. "But it's not freezing cold," he reminds me. "You'll be fine, what with how you've got yourself all bundled up like we're heading into the tundra."

"Just you watch, Watson, you'll be sorry later when you're all sick because you just wore a sweater," I retort.

"You're still calling me 'Watson'?"

"I'm still snorting."

We continue to walk in silence, our footsteps pounding down the walkway. Eventually, Link leads me over to a desolate patch of land on the outskirts of town, right before the base of the mountain which Kakariko is built upon stretches out into the plains of Hyrule.

But it's not the sparse landscape that catches my eye.

"The fuck is this?" I blurt angrily.

"My thoughts exactly."

I whirl around to face Link. "When in the world did you see this?"

He shrugs. He says to me, "A couple of days ago. Knil and I decided to go out exploring for a while the other day after work, and we ended up out here.

"It looks like they're aiming to catch the summer tourists."

I frown, scrutinizing the large sign sitting in the middle of the field in front of us. "I think the strip might be in some trouble," I say finally, now understanding the true reasons of Nabooru's visit to Kakariko and her intentions with the strip.

"I think all of Kakariko might be in trouble," Link says. "This town isn't meant for something like this."

I pull another tissue out of my box and blow my nose again. "This sucks," I say dryly, a breeze whipping at my face lightly. Link holds the bag out for me, and I toss away my tissue. "You should dump my snot all over the field."

Link chuckles. He quickly shoves both of his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

My hand begins to stir under the faint prickling sensation. I wince a little, glad for my gloves, as the mark begins to burn slightly. I wonder to myself as we stand unmoving in the field. Are you mad too? I sure am.

"I wonder what Impa'll say," I say aloud.

"I'm more curious to know what Malo's reaction to this will be," Link laughs softly, little true humor lacing his words.

"Yeah," I agree lamely, and we fall silent once more.

"I want to go home," I say finally.

"Yeah," Link grunts, turning away from the sign and the field and back towards the strip and town.

I pause for a second, giving the sign another look over before hurrying after Link up the hill, leaving the empty field and the sign announcing Dragmire's intent on building a superstore in Kakariko.

* * *

><p>A little on the short side today, I know. But I'm back at work! I'm so happy. And the days that I had to miss will be made up now; one of the other baker's hurt his back again, so now I'm working mega hours again. I dunno how much time I'll get to write until he gets back into the swing of things.<p>

I forgot to put in last chapter, the jokes Link tells that Zelda labels as Popsicle jokes, are indeed off Popsicles. Although I'm sure they also have no claim to them - I've heard that music and fish joke so many times in my days as a Scottish fiddler. But that is indeed where I've been getting them from though. I ate a lot of Superhero pops the past couple weeks. (The Hulk flavor is the best. Well next to Captain America.) It seems a little random, but it's somewhat important actually.

Something else of minor importance: I gave Zelda my bug. Lol. Not really, but I've been planning for this to happen for a while, and I'm like, IT'S HERE! I'm excited. I just didn't think this story would end up being as long as it is, but it's ended up encompassing a lot of different issues aside from her beef with Dragmire and her relationship with Link. Another factor that's becoming more major is Sheik, and the different scenarios I've thought out dealing with him, I kind of dread getting to. I like him. A lot. He's tugging at my heart strings now; same with you guys?

I think my favorite part so far, is the fact that Zelda just can't remember Groose's name. I think it's hilarious.

Anyway, thanks everybody for reviewing and messaging me! So many people are following this now; I couldn't even believe it when I saw it hit the fifty review mark, let alone the number of favorites and alerts people have this on! Here's my little shout-out to you guys: thanks _FE Frog_, _MajesticStallion_, _Wavebreeze_, _Metal Chocobo_, _Kat_, _Kokoa_, _Katie_, _AshlynnvsCarebear_ and _Amethyst 269_ for leaving comments the past couple of chapters! Any more crazy predictions or comments you guys have, I'd love to hear!

I have yet to get to work on the next chapter, but I'm almost finished with the doll Link story's first chapter. I'll post that soon. I figured I'd let you guys know, that what you've been waiting for may come next chapter, I'll have to see what'll get fit into it. But it's coming.

Also, I would like to put it out there that Groose is still in fact single. _Laaadieees. -waggles eyebrows-  
><em>

:'3


	10. Gloves and the Rabbit Hole

Zombie Cake

10.0

Gloves and the Rabbit Hole

"Zel, are you sure you don't want to go home?" Sheik asks me, watching me nearly hack up a lung in the back office of the bakery. He sighs as leans against the doorframe, waiting for my coughing to lessen up so I can actually respond to him.

Finally, I manage to choke out, "No."

"Come on, Zel," he says, the slightest hint of a whine in there. I roll my eyes. "You can't work like this. You're hands are red from you having to continually wash them."

"Don't have a fever. I can work," I tell him stubbornly, grabbing another tissue to blow my nose with.

"Says the health inspector, but really, Zel, go home," he snaps at me. "We'll be fine here. You have me and Malon here today to help Link-"

I interject, throwing my tissue down into a waste bin, "The cake orders-"

"Can be done by Link," Sheik says, cutting me off. "You've been training him on everything in this joint; I think he can handle it now."

I retort, "You didn't see his dessert mountain."

Sheik's brow creases. "His what?"

"Never mind."

"Get your ass back home and in bed. Relax. All we've been doing today is basically take orders for next week. I think we'll be fine." He sighs. "You really don't look good, Sis."

I stare down into the wastebasket in front of me. It's only been a few hours, but the basket is already almost overflowing with my tissues. "Fine," I concede. "I'll go. But if you guys fuck it up-"

"You can kick my ass," Sheik offers.

"How noble of you."

"I try," he chuckles, peeling himself from the doorframe. "Now get your keys and go." He turns and disappears back out into the shop.

I swish my chair to face the desk and start shuffling around all my papers to find my keys and grab my stuff. Stepping out of the office with my all my belongings in hand, I call out to Sheik, "Call me later!" and head out the back door of the bakery. The late autumn air is bitter today as it swipes at my skin. I huddle into myself and make a run to my car, the wind pulling loose my hair from my ponytail. My bangs and the fly-aways poke at my eyes and forehead as I throw myself into the driver's seat.

Starting my car, all I can think of is home.

**…**

Music drifts through the air in like lilting crystals, twinkling in the dim room with the laughter and light conversation of the party. I try to stifle a yawn, for the sake of looks, as I glaze over the swimming crowd. Faces of men I do not recognize approach me and speak with me, but even though I respond, I can't understand them. So I sit, alone, watching the party swing in time with the music, a frown pulling at my lips. I'm not displeased by my lack of company, but rather of the company that I'm forced to endure – by the party itself. Endless stuffed shirts come and go, to greet, to invite me to dance, to flirt, and I'm just plain uninterested in them all.

"And why is such a pretty face looking all sour?" I turn, and I see Link settling into a seat next to me. He shakes his head in an attempt to move shaggy, dirty brown-blonde bangs out of his face. I scowl at him, but he only laughs it off, tugging at the sleeve of his green tunic. "I'll sit here as long as it takes," he tells me, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

I tug a little at the skirts of my dress and complain, "This thing is so uncomfortable."

"I'll never understand women's fashion," Link says grimly.

"Neither will I," I agree. "Who thought breathing was a bad idea? Honestly." I tug a little at the low collar, as if doing so would free me from my constricting corset.

Link breaks out in a smile, mischief spreading over his features in full force. "Well," he says softly to me, "if thou would let me, I could help with that."

I have to stop myself from slapping the man, even if it no one would really notice among all the commotion. "I can't believe you," I snap quietly back at him, appalled by his boldness – by his… his gall! "You would take such an informal tone with me and then imply _that_?" I spit.

My anger does nothing to dampen his humor or his good spirit. He laughs gaily, mixing it with the light, joyous music that fills the room. "And thou would take such a formal tone with me?" he asks slyly. Lines pull at the corner of his eyes from his wide, wry smile. And this, I smack him for and stubbornly turn myself away from him. "I thought we were certainly past using 'you' by now," he chuckles.

"You say within public ear," I add.

"And what has the tiger growling about today?"

I glance back at him and reply with snip, "None of your business."

"And yet I'm still 'you'," he says with exasperation, a dramatic hand raised to his forehead in mock hurt.

"If you must know," I snap, looking over my shoulder at him again, and his face lightens in curiosity, "I find that my present company is more than just displeasing."

Link frowns at me. "I see that my ego's suffered a blow," he pouts, rubbing his chest.

"I believe that's where your heart is located, buffoon."

Surprise lights his face. "It's not the same?" he asks as I turn away from him with a scoff. We sit there, Link, I'm sure, with great amusement as I fume, for what seems hours, watching the many dancers float and swing and swish on by us. It seems hours, but I'm sure it's in reality only a few minutes. Link continues to keep his roots in the chair next to me.

"I'll have thy know, that I'm not dancing with thee," I inform him, finally addressing the reason he approached me in the first place, despite him never even mentioning the subject to me directly.

He only chuckles and then rises from the chair to come round to face me. I struggle slightly keep my glare in place as he smirks brightly at me. "Ah, but I see that _you_ have conceded," he teases, putting emphasis on his formalities. "The war has not been lost!" he proclaims merrily, hands balled into fists on his hips.

"Thou art but a leech on my side."

"I'd like to think I have some skill in that department," he says with good humor, teasing me even more.

"Wilt thou just leave me?"

"I prefer to leech from thee figuratively as well," he replies, right in time, his wit not missing a beat.

"Fine," I say indignantly, finally conceding. "You may have your stupid dance, _sir_."

"And I'm back to square one," he sighs, offering his hand to me.

"Keep it up, and thou shall find thy self in square zero," I reply plainly, taking his hand for him to lead me out into the moving mass. He only snickers in response, and soon, even I'm smiling and giggling away like a fool as we move in step with the music. We twist and turn, in and out, through the pulsing crowd of dancers.

"Milady, why didn't the sun ever shine on the castle?"

"Link," I say sternly, forcing my smile down. He only gives me a lopsided grin and waits for my response. I sigh, conceding to him once more, and I respond with, "Because the castle was full of knights."

"Thou hast gotten pretty good at these," Link chuckles.

"I'm sure there will be more opportunities," I say, with a roll of my eyes.

"What're you talking about?"

"The jokes."

"What? What jokes?"

"The jokes. On the sticks."

"I think you're delirious. Come on, Zelda."

"I thought we were past 'you'," I say dazedly.

"Zelda, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Shove it, Link. No more jokes."

There's a pause before: "I'm not Link."

I loll my head over. And there's a mop of blonde, but it's indeed not Link. Link doesn't have rusty eyes or such bright blond hair. "Sorry," I mumble in apology. "I could have sworn I was just talking to him."

"Well, he's in your kitchen. I got him making you some soup," the blonde says. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. He offers, "Are you sure you're okay? Want me to get him for you?"

The blonde mop begins to shift, spinning round like clockwork. It pulses to and fro until it disappears into the bright light. "- Don't know what her de-" Then the golden hues return in flashes. Two twin suns poke out into the darkness in which I lay.

"I got it, I got it."

The lumps pulse and morph like goo.

"Zellie-"

"- Told you she was out-"

One lump jolts closer to me. My skin crawls and prickles at the sensation of sticky ice cradling my forehead. I pull away and roll into darkness.

"It's bad."

**…**

I let loose a yawn. Sucking in a breath of air, I stretch my aching limbs and look around, but there's nothing to see. I sit up, a soaked washcloth falling from my head, and find that the only light sources from the crack in the door frame and my alarm clock. It's almost ten. I swing my legs out from under the covers and get out of bed. I walk haphazardly from my bed and out of my room. My own weakness is apparent from the way my bones feel like shriveled limbs from a dying tree. I walk out of the hallway and into the kitchen where food has been left out, the smell of spices filling my nostrils.

"OH!"

"Godsdammit!"

I walk stiffly over to the den where Link and Sheik sit playing a shooter game. Sheik looks up at me from the couch. "Hey! Look who's up? How you feeling?"

"Like I've had my knees removed."

"You missed seeing Sheik get completely bombed by some sniper," Link tells me, craning his neck to look at me from the chair.

"Shut up," Sheik mumbles, throwing his legs from the couch. He motions for me to come over. "Sit down, lady, it's your house."

"You're too kind," I retort, and I take a seat next to him.

Sheik slaps the back of his hand to my forehead. "Looks like it finally broke… That's good." He pokes me in my side, and I swat at his hands, squirming away from him. "We made some soup earlier by the way," he says. "Have you lost weight?"

"What?"

Sheik frowns at me, and Link chuckles to himself, turning his attention back to the game. "Yeah, we cooked you some soup, but you were too busy talking about some jokes on sticks or something." Sheik shrugs and focuses back on the game at hand.

"Popsicle jokes," Link interjects, tapping away at the controller in his hands. There's a round of pounding gunfire and an exclamation of "What!" from Sheik. Laughter bubbles up from Link as he takes Sheik out on the game.

"I don't remember anything about Popsicle jokes," I say, trying to rack my brain for anything they might be talking about, but nothing comes up.

Sheik tells me, "You had a pretty bad fever there for a bit – like you were not making any sense, woman. We can re-heat the soup for you, if you want."

I shake my head and rise from the couch. "That's okay. I got it," I reassure him, despite my wobble as I make my way back into the kitchen. "It's on the stove, right?" I call back to them. Of course, I only get grunts in response as the boys go in for another round to kill each other. Idiots.

I poke at the cold soup on the stove with a wooden spoon. Noodles and cut veggies break the surface. I grab a bowl out of a cabinet and dump some of the soup in it and toss it into the microwave.

Sheik calls out to me. "Zelda!" I roll my eyes, falling back onto the counter and feeling the way my hands shake. I really do need to eat, I guess. "Zelda!"

"What!"

"What're you doing? You need to see this."

"I'm getting cancer," I shout back, peeling myself from the counter to grab a spoon. "Give me a minute."

I can hear Link grumble to Sheik, "Oh, just leave her alone."

When the microwave finally goes off, I troop back into the den and flop onto the couch next to Sheik again. I sip on the soup, only blandly aware of the hot liquid rushing down into my stomach. The sounds of gunfire and shouts from the game go in one ear and out the next. Sheik's still losing. I can hear his whining and Link's soft chuckling.

The soup bowl rests in my lap, still emitting warmth. The lolls of sleep tug at my eyes. Link's shoes shaking back and forth on the coffee table flickers with the black.

"You alright, Zellie?"

"Huh?"

"You should go back to bed, Zelda."

"Uh…"

Their laughter ripples in the air.

"Come on, lady."

Hands find their way onto my upper arm.

"She ate pretty well."

**…**

"Don't forget, everything but the egg breads gets steamed. I wrote out everything in that notebook on the baker's table, and Link's scribbled a bunch of notes in there," I tell Sheik, to which I get a "Yes, Mother," and I smack him on the head. "Remember too, that if you get anybody irate, you're dealing with them. Not Malon."

"I got it! I got it! We can call you too, you know," Sheik insists. "Would you like to straighten my hair, Mother?"

"I will baby you until you can grow up."

Sheik pouts at me, but I've long since grown immune to this. "What about Link?" he whines.

"Quit it," I snap, smacking him on the forehead with the palm of my hand. "I think you're a lot worse than he is."

"Fine, fine," he says, waving me off. "We'll get it done. Besides, Malon's pretty good at baking…"

"She bakes a bit out on the ranch," I remind him as I give him a shove out the door. "Get going, before you leave her stranded out there."

"I'm going, I'm going," he says. He bounces and bounds down the steps of my porch before he spins on his heel to face me again.

"What?"

"I never got to ask you," he tells me. "Did you see what they're building on the outskirts of town?"

"What? You mean Dragmire's super-mega-humungous warehouse store?"

"So you do know."

"Link said he might be trying to aim for the tourist season," I say, crossing my arms. "They got a nice big ol' sign out there to mark it."

Sheik shrugs. "Wouldn't put it past him. He wants it to open by summer, and anybody in town could tell you the tourists bring in the dough around here."

He shifts on his feet. "You talk to Impa about it yet?"

"No. Not yet. Been too busy being sick and then worrying about this week," I laugh.

"I kind of worry though," I admit. "Not just about the bakery, but for everybody else."

He nods. "I know," he says lightly. "Kakariko may be old, and we may be fairly big, but this town doesn't want to be a city, you know?"

"I do."

"I can promise you, that shit will end up in the _Gossip Stone_," he insists, pointing a finger at me. "Promise you. You just wait."

"That's not polite," I tell him, pushing his finger away from me, and he frowns at my jab.

"You're not my mother!"

"Then what was it you were calling me not two minutes ago?"

"Oh shove it, woman," he says dismissively, turning away from me to walk to his car.

But as he gets into his car, he pauses again. "It'll be alright, Zellie," he promises me.

Zellie.

Hah.

I turn back inside. The headlights fade from the hallway and I kick the door shut. "Link!" I call out, my voice reverberating through the house, but I get no response. "Fucking a'!" I hiss tromping through the house. He's not in the den or the kitchen. He's right where I left him. In my room. Stupid boy. I told his dumb ass to get up. I suck in a deep breath as I climb up onto the bed and then push him with all my might right off the edge.

He yelps as he makes contact with the floor.

I poke my head out over the side of the bed. "I thought I told you get up off this bed or you'll doze off."

"Oops." He gives me another lopsided grin. I only shake my head at him and roll off on the other side of the bed. He pops up, still giving me a sheepish look. "Sorry," he says to me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you really have to push me off?"

I say as I stomp out of the room, "You barely wake up to an alarm."

"You know," he says as he shuffles after me, "it's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back." He chuckles some. "That was some cold. Flu. Whatever it was."

"Aren't you tired at all?" Link asks me through a yawn.

"Not really, but I will be soon," I say with a shrug as we enter the kitchen. "So in the meantime, want to get a head start on your cartoons?"

Link laughs heartily, nodding at me. "Sure. Cereal too?"

"Why not?"

Once we've settled in on the couch, the usual superhero cartoon on the television, I glance over and see Link delicately poking through his cereal. I contain my laughter, my chest lurching and the milk and cereal threating to spew from my mouth, remembering this is exactly what Knil told me he often does. "What?" Link asks me, picking through his marshmallows to get the cereal first.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "I'm fine."

He blows a puff of air through his lips, mimicking a fart. He's calling me out on my bullshit, but I'm not saying anything.

I change the subject instead. "Sheik was talking about Dragmire's newest project in Kakariko before he left this morning."

"What'd he say about it?"

"What you said. This kind of shit isn't for Kakariko."

"And it's not."

The thing about Kakariko is that while it is one of the oldest towns in Hyrule, has a fairly large population and is a popular tourist destination (because of its history), it stubbornly maintains the idea of it being a small town. In Kakariko, there is no such thing as a parking garage or a mall. Those are city things. There are outlets and other retail hubs like the strip, but there's not actual retail mall. The draws to Kakariko are not any of these conveniences like that that someone would find in a city, but the historic area which includes the infamous graveyard and the temple that lies beyond it.

In the historic area, you can even see old taverns and inns and all that jazz; these are buildings that have stood in Kakariko for at least five hundred years. Some of the homes are still private, however, so not everything is open to public viewing. Then there's Death Mountain that lies west of the town. Old, abandoned mines line the mountain, and talk of hauntings of the mines and the graveyard bring in their own draw of people. However, people come from all over to see that kind of shit – the ghosts, the buildings… the history. It's amazing, honestly, because other than the university here, we've really got nothing else; that's all _city_ shit. I'm actually surprised Dragmire got through the city council.

"I can't wait to read about it in the _Dominion Times_," Link tells me, referring to our local newspaper. The newspaper runs a section titled "The Last Word" in which the town's residents write to. The paper doesn't have any comics in it, so it's a good substitute. I distinctly remember one person writing to the paper about a sale a store had last winter. He (or more probably a she) wrote that he waited outside for three hours in his pajamas, and then he complained that he got a cold, blaming the store. Sometimes, I wonder where these people's brains are. Some days there's gold, and others, just little nuggets or nothing at all.

"Sheik said he bet it'd make the _Gossip Stone_."

"Oh-ho! Going national now, huh?"

"Who knows? There's not much else going on in the country right now."

We fall silent for a beat before Link says, "Well, this is it."

"It is."

This is it. This is the Monday before the Harvest Moon. Essentially the only Monday of the year that the bakery is open, and of course, I'm not working it. Sheik and Malon will spend the day running the bakery and prepping it for the slaughter that's to come. Link and I will swoop in in the middle of the night to start the morning bake for Tuesday, and we'll do the same for Wednesday. To say that I'm lucky I have Sheik and Malon backing us up is a very big understatement. I probably would have sold my soul for their help, but I'm lucky that it doesn't come that high of a price.

To prepare us for the two days to come, Link and I have, as per the usual, stayed up through the night. Well mostly. Link did take that doze on my bed. Idiot.

I yawn. "Don't start," Link snaps, and I snicker. "Zelda!"

"Wimp."

**…**

Dear Din, if I could have five minutes to myself, I think I would pass right the fuck out.

"Hey Zelda," Sheik says tentatively. "We're out of sourdough."

"What? Completely?"

"Well, we still have the loaves, but we're out of the light sourdough. The boules." He sucks in a breath. "And when I say we're out, I did check to see if there were any par-baked."

"Why didn't you fucking tell me we were low?"

"I kind of did. Like twenty minutes ago."

Fuck. Did he?

"I'll uh… just take the sign out of the window then?"

"Yeah," I grumble, already heading to the freezer. "It's going to be three hours at least. We're baking it from the dough."

To say it's fucking madhouse in this bitch, is right. I got Link churning out pies, and it's never enough. It's like he's feeding a black hole cornucopia. Sheik's been busting ass on the register for most of the day while Malon and I try to juggle bread and help Link out on the pies. The motherfucking pies. The only other time of the year that's so hard to keep them in stock is the day before and the day of March 14th. You know. Pie Day. 3.14. Clever, right? Motherfucking pies.

As soon as I get the sourdough into the proofer, Link shuffles up to me. I see his hand twitch to rub the back of his neck, but remembering the gloves on his hand, he plants it firmly at his side. "We're out of cherries," he tells me. Well. Shit.

"Fucking great," I grumble under my breath, but Link seems to catch this, chuckling to himself. "Well, fuck it! No more fucking cherry pies, no more godsdamn cherry turnovers, no more cherry… whatever. Awesome," I say, giving Link a thumbs up. "Fan-frickin'-tastic."

"Right," he says. "We're going to run out of everything. Aren't we?"

I sigh. "At this rate, probably." I try and stifle a yawn.

"Maybe you should go take a nap," Link suggests to me.

I wave him off. "No, I'll be fine," I say. "Besides, there's only like… six more hours and we're home free until the Grand Illumination."

"Zelda."

Great, now he's using my _actual_ name. "I'll be fine," I insist. "Besides, you've been here as long as I have."

He frowns at me.

"Fine," I snap. "I'll go eat and sleep a bit in the car. You do your pie thing."

"Minus the cherries."

"Minus the cherries," I repeat, peeling the gloves off my hands. Of course, my stomach takes this opportune moment to groan. I pat my belly. "I guess you could use some cherries," I comment to it. Link's howl drifts to my ears as we turn away from each other, him, back to work, and me, off to feed the grumbling monster that I've ignored for so long, I actually forgot about it. Oops.

I'm solicited for another yawn, but this time I let it come, and I slide into the back office. I dig through the little fridge for my sandwich, and I don't waste one second before shoveling the thing into my mouth. There's a light knock on the door. Great. Malon pokes her head in. "When do you want us to pull the sourdough from the proofer?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow as I about choke on the sandwich. "You should slow down, by the way," she advises.

I beat my chest with my fist before swallowing and answering her. "It should take like two hours. Keep checking on it is all I can tell you; I pulled it from the freezer," I say. "When it doesn't thaw out overnight, it's pretty unpredictable."

She nods.

Her eyebrows scrunch.

"What?"

Malon's jaw bobs a bit before she throws a glance back into the bakery. She skitters into the office, kicking the door shut, and she takes hold of my hand. "Malon!" I yelp as she forcibly pulls my arm to her.

"What!" she exclaims with wide eyes. "When did you get a tattoo?"

"A tatt-"

Oh no. Fuck.

"And what in Nayru's name were you thinking when you got it on your hand?" she demands, looking over my hand. Shit. Shit. I try to pull it out of her grasp, but she only tightens her vice grip on me. She mumbles, "I thought you had more sense." Malon looks over my right hand in disbelief and asks, "Has Sheik seen this?"

"Why would Sheik care?" I snip.

She shrugs. "I was just wondering what he thought of it, considering he's the reason you pierced and then stretched your earlobes," she says, tugging at the plug in my ear.

"Cut that out!"

"What would your dad say?" she says sheepishly, and I scowl, finally wrenching back my hand from Malon. Dad always hated the plugs, the nose screw. He hated it when I chopped my hair off and it was an inch from my scalp. He hated it when he showed up at my high school over an attendance issue (my homeroom teacher forgot to mark me present) and saw that I had dyed my whole head of hair pink. He actually stormed out of the school over that. So what would my dad say if he thought I tattooed a giant rendition of a religious symbol on my hand? Content aside, I highly doubt he'd be happy. ("Zelda, what have you done now!") You'd think I've lived up until this point to get under his skin.

I purse my lips.

But the idea of it being a tattoo is a pretty good scapegoat. Din bless you, Malon. It's brilliant. Really. I can't very well explain that the stupid thing just appeared on my hand out of nowhere, steadily taking shape over the past few weeks. It's prickled, stabbed and burned my skin, raised itself, reddened – the final result, or I hope it is, is a tanned mark on my hand, something like a birthmark, in the shape of three triangles forming one large one and intricate line designs outlining it. Of course, Malon knows I have no such birthmark, just as others do.

Up until now, I've gotten by with nobody really noticing, or rather, nobody really saying anything about it. At least so directly. Working with food all day offered me the opportunity to hide it under gloves, and the cold late autumn weather outside allows for the perfect excuse for mittens and gloves.

I should roll with the sentiment that it's a tattoo if anybody asks about it, otherwise, just let them think I have some strange birthmark or ignore it.

"Anyway, I'll keep up with the sourdough," Malon says. "Link's pretty busy with the pies and all."

"Okay," I say, turning back to my sandwich. Hello, my nugget of golden sustenance. "I'm going to let him eat and take a snooze after me."

"Alright.

"Should I keep the whole tattoo thing on the DL Sheik?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "I was just going to let him find out when he notices it."

**…**

All evening, Malon's been shooting me curious glances, which I've pointedly been trying to ignore, but I can't shake that damn feeling of her looking at me. I sit at the opposite end of the table from her, but yet I still sense her. She's eyeing the fingerless gloves that I still haven't taken off since I put them before going outside earlier.

I can feel from the mark the shiver it emits, scaling my arm in waves of gooseflesh right up to the shoulder. I shudder slightly.

The table's filled with food, drink, laughter, love and companionship, but I'm set at a slight unease that I can't pinpoint or describe. Like something private is on display. I don't have a formal dining room, so we cram ourselves around my kitchen table, the platters of food sitting on the island. Sheik sits to my left. Anju is seated across the table from us, sandwiched between Malon and Link. To Sheik's left sits Knil's now empty chair. He'd stopped by for a little while, despite his previous polite refusals to come.

"Zelda," Sheik calls, nudging me with his elbow. "You did make the pies right?"

I roll my eyes, mushing some of my mashed potatoes. "Yes," I say with exasperation. It's not like he hasn't asked me this a few dozen times today already.

Poor Anju, wanting to contribute to the dinner, had originally made the traditional Harvest Moon pies, but ultimately failed. She called me over last night to her house, frantic over her desserts. ("I'm sorry, but can you come over right away? I've made a mess of things again. I'm sorry!") Anju and her clumsiness had botched the recipe for making the crusts of the pies, and when she finally got it right, of course she forgot to set the oven timer. Needless to say, dessert turned into overly large pieces of charcoal.

I scrape some of the remains of my potatoes back into the pile. Link glances up my way and furiously tries to reassemble his potatoes. Oh no, boy, not today. I carve out some windows in the mashed potato castle on my plate, tuning out Sheik's talk of politics with Malon and Anju. Well somewhat Anju. I only hear snippets of her voice every now and then. I look over across the table at Link's plate, where he's steadily morphing a ship out of his potatoes. What a sea lubber.

Anju's sneaking us glances, amusement lining the corners of her mouth and eyes as she watches us play with our food. I slide a glance in at Link and his progress once more. He's still concentrated on his own potatoes. I pluck a pea off my plate and launch it over to Link's. He jumps, startled when it plows into the deck of his potato ship.

Anju covers a bout of laughter with a snort.

Malon shoots Link and me a look, seeing out mashed potato creations, as she works through her cut of turkey. I shrug innocently.

The war is on. Link flicks a slice of carrot at me, and it slaps right into the face of my castle. What a butt. I get a slimy green bean into his beer as payback. It's not long into our exchange of flying cooked veggies that Sheik and Malon take notice. "This is why I can't take you anywhere," he says as Link and I quickly try to cover our tracks, both of us taking a chuck out of our potato creations and shoving it in our mouths.

"Link started it."

"What!" Link exclaims, sputtering some potato out of his mouth. He swallows and licks his lips. "Anju saw it all!" he reminds me with an accusing finger.

"You're just being a baby because I was winning."

Link opens his mouth to retort when Anju slides her spoon over and smushes both his ship and my castle. He stares dumbfounded at the smashed remains of his potato ship. "You sank my battleship," he mumbles.

Later, after we finish dinner and have our fair share of pie, I take help Sheik take care of the dishes while the others wallow in their food comas over in the den. He shoots me a grin, and I chuckle. "What?" I ask him, loading up my dishwasher.

"You don't want to do that by hand and play with the bubbles?"

"No thanks."

Sheik laughs and shakes his head. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Zellie," he tells me with a nudge to my side as I bend down to toss some utensils in.

I pause on my way up, thinking about it. "Yeah," I admit. "It is."

**…**

It's Link, Sheik and me. Just the three of us lazily lying on my bed. Sheik pokes at another slice of pie. I think his stomach has gotten the better of himself; he looks longingly at what's left of the pie, but only poke it with his fork. Eventually, Sheik lets out a sigh and sets the plate down on my nightstand, officially surrendering for the night.

"Some week. I'm ready to go back to the pawn shop," he says with a yawn and patting his stomach. Sheik nudges me. "Hey, Zelda. Do I have a whatsit? Rotundo belly, yet?"

"Oh shove it."

"I think it's a good look."

I scowl at him, and then I loll my head over to my other side. Link's dozing again, and I smack his arm. He stirs, sucking in air like a vacuum. "Don't fall asleep," I tell him, and gives me a small "oh" as he looks around. "You'll spill the beer."

"You want me to finish it?" Sheik asks him.

Link shakes his head and knocks back what's left of the bottle. He sets it on the other nightstand and resettles himself on the bed, jostling Sheik and me. "What in the world are you watching?" he asks groggily.

"A little of this, a little of that," Sheik says.

"History shit," I say. "The same stuff that was on before you nodded off."

"I don't even remember what I was watching," he laughs softly. I turn my head, and Link closes his eyes. He sniffs.

Sheik slaps my leg. "I better go, Zel," he says. "Else I'm never going to be able to pull myself out of your bed."

I glance over at Link again. "I think Link's hit that point."

"You guys busted ass the past few days."

"My ass certainly feels busted," I retort. I poke Link. "I suppose I could push him off."

Sheik sighs. "Could you push me?"

"Your rotundo belly makes it difficult. I don't wish to strain myself," I reply, closing my own eyes to the world. But Sheik rolls off the bed without my help. He lays still for a few minutes on the floor before I finally hear him pull himself back up. "Very graceful," I comment, my eyelids refusing to lift themselves.

"You talk to Impa tomorrow?"

"Sure," I say. "I need to. I'll let you know what she says. And if she's heard from Malo."

"Good," he says. "Because you know-"

I cut him off harshly. "I'd rather not think about it, Sheik," I say.

"Right," he says.

I feel him grab hold of my arm, and he drags me up and off the bed. "You're going to make me walk you out?" I whine, rubbing my eyes.

"You're a terrible host."

I walk Sheik to the door, where we say our very tired good-byes. I throw my hand through the air, letting it slap my hip and leg when it falls. That's about as good of a wave as anybody's going to get out of me right now. I stay standing there, leaning against the doorframe as Sheik gets into his car and drives off. Mostly because I'm too lazy at this point to move. I watch his car disappear off in the distance before turning back inside.

I'm so beat. It's a good thing all the dishes and the food were taken care of earlier. I don't care if a stampede of rodents came through the house to devour it all. I'm ready to plop down into my bed and-

Fuck. Right.

Instead of trying to wake him or move him or well… anything, I throw myself over lightly snoring Link and onto the bed, landing on top of his stomach. Because you know, I'm sensible. He yelps in surprise, and I crawl off of him. Peeling the covers back, I slide into my bed and snuggle in. Link shifts again, trying to get comfortable, and I remind him, "I'll push you off eventually. Just you wait."

I get a grunt in response.

I close my eyes.

I don't know how much time passes when my eyes open again, and I shake Link awake. "Hey, aren't you cold?" I ask, rolling over. He hasn't moved one bit, still lying in his shirt and jeans on top of the covers, his hat barely perched on his head. It's funny how even though we're not at work, he still keeps it on. It's almost an extension of his head and hair, making him seem out of place without it now.

"Mmpf." He pulls the covers out from underneath him and throws himself under. The whole bed shakes with the shockwave.

We lay there in silence, the bedside lamp still casting its glow alongside the television. Can laughter from the sitcom bounces within the room. I roll on my back. The lights still brighten my vision even behind eyelids. "Link," I say, breaking the sleepy silence between us. "Can you turn that light off? It's fucking bright."

There's a sharp inhale of air whooshing into lungs as Link rolls and shuts the light off. The blankets fluff and wave as Link digs himself back under. We lay still on our backs, letting the mattress eat us. It's not as comfy as his or Sheik's bed. Now those are mattresses that suck you in and surround you like a glove. I stretch and yawn, blinking through the television's glow.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"When'd you get a tattoo?"

"What're you talking about?" I grumble. Link reaches over and taps the back of my gloved hand, then lets his hand drop. Oh-OH. Crap. I make a dodge. "Malon said something about it yesterday too," I say, all too aware of his arm and hand resting on my own arm and part of my stomach. My senses and nerves are on edge, all of them pointing at the foreign warmth emitting from Link's limb.

"I'll sink your battleship one day."

"For now, I remain elusive," I say. "But I'm pretty sure I built a castle."

"It'll float."

"If you say so."

He asks, "Why'd you get the Triforce?" He pulls his arm back towards him some, the heat of his palm soaking into my forearm.

I bite my lip, rolling it in between my teeth. "I didn't have much choice, honestly."

"That's what I thought."

"I had a weird dream," I tell him, "when I was sick. We were dressed in like… I dunno. Old clothing. Like people were wearing tunics, doublets and these dresses that sucked the air from you."

"People?"

"It was like a party… or a ball of some sort. I called you a buffoon."

He snickers. "You do that anyway."

"You just wanted a damn dance, and I was being stubborn. I don't know about what or why though."

"You're just stubborn to be stubborn."

Ignore.

Link snorts into the beat of silence.

"You told me another Popsicle joke."

"Did I?"

"Something about light and a castle?"

"Why didn't any light ever shine on the castle?" Link asks.

I answered it right the first time, but I still have to think about it. Fucking brain, work properly. "Because it was full of knights," I finally answer, yawning. Again.

"You've gotten better," he says, chuckles lacing his voice.

He sucks in another breath, sharp and quick, and holds it as he rolls onto his side. His arm retracts from me, but the other reaches out and peels me from the mattress. "What're you doing?" I mumble into his shirt, but he doesn't answer. I shift and squirm in his hold into a more comfortable position, and then I can hear his breathing in my ear. It's all I can hear, the television mere grumbles in the background. Everything else seems to shut down but the vague awareness of both his arms around me, cuddling me like a stuffed animal.

"Why're you breathing so hard?" he asks.

"You're the one that's breathing hard, stupid."

He pulls back somewhat. "You're so mean to me," he pouts.

"I didn't realize you were such a wuss."

Just to prove me wrong, I feel his breath trickle across my cheek and the hot and wetness of his lips on the corner of my mouth. There's a brief moment following where the two of us freeze, and then we break out into snickers and giggles, like this was long overdue.

I wiggle my right arm though the small opening between the bed and his neck and head. "You lost your hat," I say, when I feel hair instead of knitted yarn under my palm.

"A small price."

"Link?" I open my mouth, but I'm unsure of how to ask, and words fall flat from me.

But Link catches on, knowing. "I had some help."

"You're so dumb," I breathe, and he laughs, pulling my left leg to rest in between his. I slowly scratch at the back of his head. "You're weird."

"_You're_ weird."

"Boy, I will beat you out of this bed," I threaten.

He lets out that breathless, airy chuckle of his, but I cut him off with fervor. He matches me, and I push against him, feeling him tug loose the cami that was tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Link bumps my nose, and I break the kiss, jerking away when I feel the sharp scrape of the titanium screw against the inside of my nostril. "Sorry."

"It happens more than you think with the boxes and pans at the bakery." He laughs, and I rub my hand through his hair. "I used to work in a shoe store in high school," I tell him as he nuzzles into my neck. "I like just pierced it with Sheik like three weeks before. Since you know, your nose is made of cartilage, it takes a long time for it to heal, and it still hurt when I sneezed or just moved it at that point. I go to fix a shoe from the top shelf of the bin, and it comes flying out of the open box and into my face." I tug a little at his short hair, and he lets out a low, wolfish laugh. "It hurt. So fucking bad," I say, laughing some myself.

Link traces thin lines along my spine and lower back with his fingers. It's nice. Soothing almost. I breathe deeply.

"Hey Link," I say.

"Hm?"

"Still tired?"

He pulls away while snickering. "I think I'm drunk," he says, his torso shaking with his laughter.

"I think I'm sleep stupid."

He sniffs. "I guess we're in the same boat now."

"Can't sink my battleship anymore, you goob," I say.

"Tired?"

"Not yet." And I kiss him again.

* * *

><p>That took forever to write. You guys still there? Haha. I dunno. I'm not sure if I'm particularly happy with this chapter. I may go back over it. I don't knooow. Opinions? I wanted to do more in the bakery itself, but I ended up cutting it down. Same with the dinner. I really wanted to focus on changes that have occurred in Zelda.<p>

Anyway. I ended up starting a blog: rumandthesea (dot) blogspot (dot) com, just remove (dot) with actual periods. I've posted a few sketches and drawings up there of both _Zombie Cake_ and _Coin-Operated_. I think I'll try to get some sketches of the scenery up as well.

Also, for those of you that were interested, the doll Link story I was talking about is up. It's titled _Coin-Operated_, and like I said, you can see sketches of Link and Zelda from that on the blog too.

I really, really need to skedaddle before I'm late for work. Peace out guys! Stay fresh.

;3


	11. Treasure and the Hunt

Zombie Cake

11.0

Treasure and the Hunt

He watched as it splattered down on the concrete. With a quick glance up at me, he looked back down and stared disbelieving at the ground where half of his ice cream cone lay. "That sucks," he'd said, and then he stepped over it. With a little jog, he ran up to meet me.

"You can have some of mine," I said.

He let out a laugh, and then looked back at the cone he'd left behind. "I'm not going to lie," he told me, taking a bite out of my cone, "I seriously thought about just picking that up and eating it for a moment there." I giggled and shook my head, reclaiming my own cone. "Build up that immune system!" he had exclaimed, chuckles breaking through his speech.

But poor Link, eating off the ground really doesn't help much when you're sick as a dog, now does it? He lays in his bed with his face half in a bowl of ramen, as miserable as I was a month before, and I poke at his cheek, saying, "Well, can't blame this one on me," and still chuckling at the memory of his fallen ice cream. It was a brave soldier, that treat, right to the end.

Link groans, and I snag the bowl of ramen out from under him before he pulls his comforter up over his head. "I feel like death," he whines to me. He squirms in his bed some.

"Just stay home tomorrow," I tell him. I set the bowl on the TV tray serving as a nightstand. "Malon and I can manage it. Besides, Grand Illumination is still like two weeks away. We got time."

"I owe Knil," he says, pulling the cover back. There's a red, crescent line across his cheek from where he'd been resting his head on the bowl of soup. Idiot boy, falling asleep in own food.

"Boy," I snap, "I can give you some sick pay, if that's what you're griping about. It won't be your usual weekly pay though."

He opens his mouth to respond when he suddenly sneezes, breaking the dam in his nose. "Ah!" Link panics, flailing around in his blankets, while I crack up. I hurry into the bathroom across the hall and grab a wad of toilet paper for him.

"Here, here," I tell him, laughter shaking my bones as I watch him desperately try to contain the flow of snot.

"I feel like fucking shit," he says, wiping his nose. _Whump_! The blankets and pillow puff up under the sudden impact of Link's weight. He sniffs miserably and rolls on his side, curling in the winding comforters.

"Might want to clean that mouth," I say. "Been hanging around me too much."

"Aye, Cap'ain," he agrees. "Nobody else on these here high seas with a fouler mouth than you. I'd really hate to take your well-earned title."

"As you should."

"I'll swab the decks another day," he tells me.

"And I'll hold it to you, matie."

…

"Jeez, Zel," Malon gripes with a yawn. "How is it you and Link do this every damn day? _I_ don't even get up as early as we did today at the ranch."

"It's not that bad once you get used to it."

"I knooow," she whines, plopping herself down at one of the bistro tables by the front window. "It's just that it's only twelve-thirty, and I'm so ready to call it a night. It's barely afternoon!" She pulls her eyes to look out the window where the blinding sun bursts into the bakery. "Where is everyone? Seriously."

"It's a Tuesday, Mal," I tell her, "in the middle of December. Not really a hopping time. It'll pick up for dinner, that's for sure."

Malon mumbles in response, still gazing sleepily out the window. She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, leaning on the bistro table. Maybe she shouldn't be in the sun; the redhead might just keel over right then and there. And then where will I be? Fucked. That's what. Sheik's working the pawn shop today.

"Malon."

"Hurr?"

"Mal!" I snap, and she jerks some in the chair. "Don't pass out on me now."

"How about I run and grab us something to eat?"

"How about I run and snag a cat nap?"

Malon frowns at me. "You're terrible." Malon perks up a little, and then she asks, "Do you hear that?"

"What?" I say, straining my ears. "Oh." I scramble through the mess of empty racks, hearing the buzzing noise that caught Malon's attention. Looking at my phone where I'd left on a counter, I tell Malon, "It's my dad."

"Again?"

"Yeah," I grumble and pick it up. "Hello?"

"Zelda?"

"Hey Dad. What's up?"

"I, uh, sent you a card in the mail. Did you get it?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, it's your birthday card. I know it's a bit late." Then he says after a brief pause, "Right?"

Dad. He probably doesn't even remember how old I am. "Yeah. That's okay though." Then: "Thanks."

"So uh... how was your birthday?"

"I mowed the lawn."

"In November?"

"It needed one last trim before the winter started."

"Oh, okay, that's good." Pause. "Anything else going on?"

"Can I call you back later? I'm at work."

"Oh, okay!"

Malon cracks up behind me as I scroll through my missed calls. "You and your dad are so awkward on the phone!" she laughs.

"Yeah, and he only called about five times to tell me he sent me a birthday card."

"Your birthday was last month," Malon states.

I shake my head, walking back up to the front and shoving my phone back into my pocket. "You know him; he probably doesn't even remember his own birthday unless he looks at his driver's license," I sigh.

Malon pulls herself up from the chair and saunters back over to the counter. She opens her mouth to say something but stops when we both hear the buzzing from my pocket. Malon shoots me a knowing grin, and I roll my eyes. Of course, it's my father. Again. What now?

"Hey."

"Hey, I forgot to mention this to you before," he says, as Malon leans in closer to listen in. I move away and turn around, and she pouts at me. "The Taste is going to be happening during the first week of July. I was thinking, if at all possible, that maybe you and Luke-"

"Link."

"What?"

"His name's Link, Dad." Malon snickers behind me.

"Right. Well I was thinking that maybe you and Luke could-"

"Link."

"-Probably get a stand for it. I know you've wanted to do solely cakes, and I thought that this might be a good opportunity for you. Maybe come up with a new cake flavor for it. Plus, you can finally come out and visit your old man."

"Uh, that sounds like an idea, Dad. Thanks. I'll think about it."

"How is Luke-"

"Link."

"-Doing?"

"Sick as dog. He's at home, moping around."

"And Sheik? He isn't getting into too much trouble is he?"

"No. I loaned him some money to go back to school."

"Is he still working at that pawn shop?"

"Yeah. He told me he was able to buy some really cool stuff from some tourist the other day. I haven't seen what it is though."

"Oh that's good."

"Yeah."

I sniff.

"So anything else going on?"

"Dad, I'm at work," I remind him as the bakery's phone goes off. What is with people and the damn phones today? Malon gives me a look. Dear Din! I'm going to get cancer from these things.

"Oh, right! Bye!"

I shove my phone into my pocket and take the one Malon holds out for me, and she turns away to start cutting open Italian bread. I sigh. "Skyloaf, this is Zelda."

"Hey."

"My dad's convinced your name is Luke."

"What?"

"Never mind. What do you want? I hope you aren't calling just to whine for me to come over and make you alphabet soup."

Link doesn't answer right away as he thinks it over. I can hear those rusty gears trying to turn in his brain right now. "That would be pretty sweet," he comments. "But Knil wanted me to call you. He was down by where Dragmire's digging, and says we should go see it."

"What's going on?"

"I dunno. But he thought it was pretty interesting, whatever it was. I guess.

"Also," Link adds, "my sister's coming."

"Aryll?"

"Yeah," he trails. "Scared Grandma; she's been calling me like crazy all day until I was able to get ahold of Aryll. She just kind of flew the coop last night for whatever reason, so I'm going to keep her for a few days before I ship her back down to Ordon."

"Such a nice brother."

"Well, her winter vacation hasn't even started yet. That dummy."

I say, "I'd like to meet Aryll when she gets here."

"That's what I thought." Link sniffles.

"And we can go check out with Knil whatever he thinks is so interesting when you're not honking out so much snot."

"Sounds good," he chirps as brightly as he can in his miserable state. Poor sap. "So about that alphabet soup…"

"If you shut up and leave me alone for the rest of the day, I'll make it that spaghetti fairy stuff you like so much."

"Oh no way!"

"Goodbye, Goober."

Throwing the phone back down on the hook, I look over at Malon. "I'm going to get cancer," I tell her.

"Shit happens," she says dully, sawing away at a loaf of Italian.

…

"Oh, hey, it's you."

"It's-a me-a!" I say, giving Sheik the jazz hands. He doesn't seem amused by it. Jerk. "What're you doing? What're you doing?" I babble, shuffling up to my brother at the counter.

"Paperwork," Sheik replies flatly. "What're _you_ doing?"

"Jazz hands!" And I shake my hands again.

"Really. What's up with my diabolical, cantankerous sister?" he asks, looking back down at the forms on the glass countertop in front of him. He did _not_ even comment on my awesome jazz hands! I can't believe this. The fluorescent lights inside the case illuminate the papers as I peer into the cases to look at the assortment of knives and daggers displayed inside, trying to hide my spite for my brother. "You hardly ever stop by my work."

"You were so stoked about your buy the other day, I wanted to see what exactly it was that you were able to snag," I say. "That and the grocery is like a block away, and I'd promised Link I'd make him some kiddie soup."

Sheik whips his head up, thoughtfulness written all over his face. "You ever think that maybe in another lifetime, you and I really were related?"

"No," I say quickly. "I hope not. I've had enough of you to last me until the end of time."

"Me too," he says, going back to his paperwork.

"I'm glad we're in agreement." I whine, "Can you hurry it up? I wanna seeee!"

Sheik throws his pen down in surrender, and it clatters against the glass. He shoots me an annoyed look when I fist pump my victory. "Give me a minute, and I'll grab it."

"Cool beans."

While Sheik disappears into the backrooms of the pawn shop, I wander around, looking at all the old video games and records on hand in the shop. By the time Sheik comes back, I'm playing with one of those old portable games. "I can't believe you and I thought hopping barrels getting lobbed at us by a gorilla was fun," I say, watching myself get killed as another barrel slams into me. "I give up," I say, and put the game back.

"So what is it?" I ask, walking back over to the counter where Sheik has laid out whatever it is he's bought.

Sheik unrolls the velvet fabric to reveal a sword. "You bought a sword?"

"Not just any sword," Sheik says smugly. "This one dates back to the Force Era. It could have even been worked on the Picori."

"The Picori?" I say with skepticism. "You're telling me that you believe in tiny anthropomorphic mice?"

"Hey, you never know."

"And you made fun of me for believing that somewhere out in the Great Sea are giant octoroks.

"So anyway, why isn't this thing in a museum?"

"The guy originally bought it in an auction," Sheik tells me. The blade shows signs of some tarnishing and a little rust, but otherwise it is in wonderful condition for its age. The purple hilt had been worn down with dirt and grime from the years. "All private owners."

"Neat-o."

Sheik laughs. "You bet it is."

"You haven't talked to my dad lately, have you?" I ask him as he begins to rewrap the sword to put away.

"Nope. You?"

"He was calling me all day."

"Did he finally remember you had a birthday?" he asks, humor in his voice. He picks up the sword and starts to walk away.

"Yeah," I say, chasing after him down the counter. "But he really wanted to tell me that I should consider trying to snag a booth at the Taste."

"The Taste?" Sheik raises an eyebrow. "You're talking about the Taste of Castle Town?"

"What other really great food event is called the Taste?"

"I miss Ribfest," Sheik laments. He shakes his head and turns round on me, "If you go, you gotta bring me back some ribs."

"Ew," I say, my face scrunching in disgust. "It'll be so gross by the time we get back to Kakariko."

"We?"

"I can't run a booth at the freaking Taste by myself, Sheik. I'm going to need Link there with me; you sure as hell can't bake a good cake."

"Right," he sneers and disappears back into the back room. I flip myself around and lean up onto the glass case to wait for him. There are old war propaganda posters leering at me from across the way. Occasionally, it's blotted out by some other customer's fat head.

I jerk away when I suddenly a sharp jab in my back, and I whip around and glare at Sheik. "Sooo… going to the Taste?"

"Dad suggested I come up with a new flavor for it."

Sheik juts his lips out in a duck face as he thinks it over, leaning generously onto the glass counter. "You should," he agrees. "Maybe do something summery?"

"Real descriptive."

"Just think it over. You should do it," Sheik pokes.

I snort. "I have to figure out what to do with the bakery in the meantime, stupid. Did you think of that?" Sheik frowns and averts his eyes. I guess that gives me my answer. I move away from the counter and, lightly, I smack him on his forehead with the heel of my palm, and he bolts up.

"Well, I'm going to head out," I say. "I need to get that soup.

"And remember," I threaten, pointing a finger at him, "don't make me take you fucking daytime court TV."

"But then we can yell and scream at each other _and_ get paid for it."

I jab my finger at him, but Sheik only laughs.

…

He's already outside, sitting on his porch when I get here. Bundled up in sweaters, his signature hat and a scarf, his thin frame looks strangely bulky. Link looks up, the porch light casting glossy streaks in his hair. He offers me a small wave, and then turns his attention back to his hands, fumbling with something. "What're you doing?" I call out to Link, lugging up the groceries. He mumbles something, but across the distance, of course I can't hear him. "What're you doing?" I ask again, coming up on the steps and taking a good look at him in the light. "Aren't you cold?"

Link sniffles and shrugs, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Don't cut yourself," I tell him, watching as the knife he holds in one had slices through a layer of wood. The strip he cuts away curls up, then jumps from the block and down to the small pile of shavings at Link's feet.

"That's why they make finger guards and cut resistant gloves, lady," he says with a weak smirk. He holds up the hand holding the small block of wood and wiggles his fingers sport leather guards over his glove.

"You sure you aren't cold?"

"I'm fine."

"Link."

"It's fine. I haven't been out long anyway."

Sighing, I step through his wood shaving mess and sit down on the other chair on the porch. I set the grocery bag down at my feet, and tapping them a little, I look back at Link. The knife slides through the wood like it's cutting butter, and another curl pops off. Neither of say anything for a long time, Link whittling away at a block of wood, and me watching him go at it. The pile of shavings at his feet steadily grows, one curl or chip at a time. Occasionally, Link will sniffle some, breaking the silence of the night surrounding us.

Finally: "What're you making?" I ask.

"You know, I was starting to respect you for being one of those few people who _doesn't_ ask me what I'm making," he jokes, pausing in his carving to shoot me a sly grin. Then the shavings start popping off the block again.

"I thought you knew I'm not very good at this small talk shit."

Link laughs, careful to keep an eye on the blade in his hand. He studies the chipped block of wood in his hand and then says with some slight hesitation, "A fish. I think." He sniffles.

"You think."

"I think."

"Way to go in it with a game plan, Mason."

"Of course, Nohansen! Always." He snorts to himself, and then sniffs again. A finger rises to rub his nose, but remembering the blade in his hand, Link just goes back to his whittling.

"Need a tissue?"

"I'll be fine."

I push myself out of the chair. "Well, I'm gonna go make your soup. You should really come inside though. It's gotten pretty cold."

Link only shakes his head at me and turns over the chipped block in his hands. "Just a little longer," he yawns.

The storm door clatters open, and Link shuffles in by the time I've finished heating up the soup for him. He mumbles a quiet "Thank you," and he fills himself a bowl after setting down his knife, the wood block and his gloves and guards. Plopping himself down in a chair at the table, I can see the circles under his eyes.

"What do you think about going to Castle Town this summer?"

His brow furrows as shifts around his soup. "What for?" he asks.

"My dad wants me to think about getting a booth at the Taste."

Link pauses in his stirring. "I want to try the hot dogs," he tells me decisively.

I scowl at him. "You sound like Sheik now. He told me to bring him back some ribs."

Link smirks at this and spoons up some of his soup. The spoon clatters back into the bowl when he suddenly starts coughing. When it subsides, he rubs his chest and then gives me a sheepish look. "That would have sucked if I had soup in my mouth," he snickers.

…

Aryll Mason is a small girl, standing a few inches over five feet. She has the same wild blonde hair as Link, but unlike her older brother, she has attempted to tame it by pulling it back into two pigtails. The girl may be tiny, but she certainly has a fierceness to her that I wouldn't want to cross. A nice contrast to Link's docile nature, who also assured me that she was actually very sweet, but standing in front of her and those piercing green eyes, I'm kind of having a hard time peeling back the layers to see that.

Aryll frowns at Link, and he quirks an eyebrow at her. "What?" he asks, sniffing again. Still sick, but he's looking a lot better than he has in days.

"Nothing," she says.

Link frowns at her for a moment before something dawns on him. "Oh, come on!"

Somewhere inside of me, I can feel the bemusement pricking. This'll be good, Intuition tells me. Oh yes.

"I'm using the bathroom," Aryll announces and stomps up the steps to the kitchen and out of the room.

Out of earshot in the lower den of the house, I turn to Link and ask, "What happened?"

"She doesn't really like to see me drinking," Link chuckles, setting the bottle on the table wedged between the two couches. "Funny story, actually."

"What'd you do to her?"

"When I was in high school, my friends invited me out to this party they were having. And since Aryll was going camping with her Girl Scout troop, my grandma told me to go hang out with my friends. I obviously wasn't going to tell her it was a party," he says. A ghost of a smile is on his face as he rubs one hand on his face. "Basically what happened was, we were out on this farm, drinking, and I ended up getting really drunk and wandered out into the woods."

I sputter a little with laughter. "Oh jeez, Link! How'd you find your way back?"

"That's what Aryll doesn't like to remember," he laughs. "I woke up missing a shoe and surrounded by her troop friends in the woods."

"Way to set a standard for yourself," I say, barely containing my own laughter.

"Yup. That's the story how I lost a shoe drunk."

We're still laughing about Link's woodland adventure and consequent rescue by Girl Scouts when Aryll comes back. She looks between us and asks, "What're you laughing about?"

Link smiles cheekily at her. "I was telling Zellie about how your Girl Scout troop found me in the woods," he says, and Aryll frowns at him, her face taking on a slight tint of red.

"Not funny, Link."

"Still embarrassed by it?" he pokes.

"You do realize that I'm known at school as _your _little sister, right? Meaning, everybody remembers how you got drunk and lost in the woods."

"Oh, pish-posh," Link dismisses. "You'll be in college before you know it with a shit ton of new people who know nothing about me or you."

"Where's Knil at? At least he has some common sense."

"What? My little sister prefers my friend over me?" he pouts, and Aryll smirks at him. "This hurts." He pats at his chest. "Right here, Sis.

"Honestly though, Aryll, if anybody should be embarrassed, it should be me. I lost a perfectly good shoe that day too. I don't know what you've been griping about all these years."

Aryll rolls her eyes at him. "Right.

"I forgot to tell you earlier, but I ran into Mido on my way out of town. He says that he's thinking of making another trip up here soon."

"Really?" Link's head swivels over to me, his eyebrows furrowed. "You didn't get to meet Mido, did you?"

"I don't recall the name."

"Guess not," Link mumbles to himself. Thinking it over, recognition flashes on his face. "Oh! Yeah. When I made the desert mountain was when he was up here last! You just missed him."

"He's a really big grouch," Aryll interjects.

"More prideful than anything," Link counters.

Aryll snorts at her older brother, but I can see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How is it that you guys are friends anyway?" she asks. "You never got along in grade school."

"He wasn't that bad…"

When a sheepish look crosses Aryll face as she leans on the back of the couch Link sits on, I can immediately see the relation between her and Link. Even the way her eyes narrow is the exact same. "Link," she prods, "he bullied you until the fourth grade."

"What changed?" I ask. A childish curiosity is eating at me, and I can't help but ask.

Link rubs the back of his neck. "I uh… Well, we got into a fight one day out by the woods," Link says. "It ended when I started choking him."

Link and Aryll snicker, but I only stare at them dumbfounded. "Yeah, I want to make friends with the wimpy kid that kicked my ass."

"Have you ever seen an animal documentary? You know, where like elks fight to be the alpha?" Aryll asks me. "That's what they were like in grade school." She flicks the side of Link's head with her finger, and a "Hey!" comes crying out from Link.

Link grumbles a little, and bashfully rubs the back of his neck again. "But you seriously told _Mido_ of all people where you were going and not your own grandmother?"

"She was going to stop me!" she says with exasperation. "Besides, he caught me at the gas station filling up right before I left."

"Aryll!"

She sticks her tongue out at him.

…

"You guys still working on that icing?" Malon asks as she walks through the door, bells above it jingling away. She sets the bags in her hands down on the bistro tables up front and shrugs off her coat. Link grimaces and slowly turns on his heel. He leans over the trashcan next to the counter and lets the icing in his mouth roll out. "That's really attractive," Malon comments as she walks into the back area of the bakery. "Is it really that bad?"

"Purple actually has a taste," Link says. There's a permanent scrunch in his face from tasting our buttercream concoction.

I say, "Nice teeth."

"I would hope by now that they'd be a lovely shade of purple," he replies.

Malon leans over and peers into the bowl of icing. A shade of doubt lines her face. "Pretty color," she says. She swipes a bare finger into the bowl and then sticks it into her mouth. Her face, too, takes on the scrunch.

"You're lucky we're already trashing this," I tell her.

"Because I stuck my finger in it?"

"Health codes, Malon," I chide.

Malon wipes her finger on her jeans and scowls a little at us. "Yeah, that's definitely gross. What'd you do to it?"

Link says, "It's the food coloring."

The three of us stare at the bowl of buttercream. Simply coloring it is out of the question. All three of us think it tastes disgusting. "And she wants the _whole_ cake purple?" I ask Link.

He shifts on his feet, pulling his gloves off. "The whole thing," he reiterates with a nod. Oh, Nayru. This is a mess. Link folds his arms across his chest.

I heave a sigh. "Well, I hope she likes the taste of berries. Call her up; I'm going to the grocery," I instruct, peeling off the gloves that stick to my skin. I toss them into the trash and head to the back to grab my coat as Link and Malon exchange glances.

"Wait, wait," Link calls, shuffling up behind me. "What're we doing?"

"We can't color it with just some food coloring. It tastes horrible. So the one thing that we can do is to color it naturally with a mixture of some berries. It won't be your typical buttercream," I say with another sigh, "so I need you to call this lady and okay it with her. Otherwise she's not going to have a purple cake, or it'll just taste awful."

Link scratches his head. "Okay," he says simply.

"Got it?" I ask, and I wrap my scarf around my neck.

"I got it, I got it," he mumbles, turning away. He pauses in his step as I dig for my keys, and he whirls around. "Goldfish?"

"Malon just got back with our lunch," I remind him.

"Goldfish?" he asks again.

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I grumble and throw open the back door. "GO CALL HER."

It doesn't take me long to run down to the grocery and get back to the bakery. The roads are basically dead being the day after Grand Illumination. To my surprise though, as I walk into the prep area of the bakery with the supplies in hand, I see Malon up front talking to a regular, although we haven't seen him in a while.

"What's coming out of the oven?" he asks, peering over Malon's shoulder.

"Some French and Italian."

"Oh good! When's it coming out?"

Link and I immediately share a look as Malon tells the guy to hold on while she checks. Throwing down the bags in my hands, I rush to beat Malon to the oven, and I hiss at her. "It has twenty minutes," I say.

"But-"

"Twenty."

Malon throws her hands up. "Okay. Twenty." And she repeats this to the guy; Link and I let out a collective sigh of relief at this, and Link shoots me a thumbs-up.

After he promises to be back, Malon turns round on Link and me. "So… want to let me in? The timer said about five minutes."

"He does this all the time," I snap.

Link blurts, "I almost burned my hand one time for this guy's damn bread."

"If you told him five minutes, he'd be back in five or less, or just stay until the timer went off and make one of us pull a loaf right off the rack," I tell Malon. "We tell him ten or fifteen minutes longer than it actually has so we don't get a burn and because he tends to show up sooner than later."

Malon's mouth thins, and she holds up her hand, studying her palm. "Ouch," she mumbles.

I shake my head. "Anyway, you call that lady about the icing?"

"I did," Link says with a nod. "She says go for it, but she sounded a little unsure about it. I told her trying to color it like we'd had been tasted disgusting too."

"Cool beans, swabbie."

"I want to try this," Malon butts in.

I tell her, "No bare fingers this time," as Link begins to dig through the bags. Of course, he goes straight for the crackers I got him. I swipe it from his hands, saying, "Not now." He gives me a sour look, but grabs all the fruit to wash.

"By the way, Zelda," Malon says, "Sheik and I were talking-"

"Talking or scheming? Because I'm leaning towards scheming."

"What makes you think we're scheming?"

"You're staying with him after I offered you to crash with me!" I say over the sink gushing water. "Don't give me that look, I know it."

"That doesn't constitute scheming."

"Yes, it does." I narrow my eyes at her. "Unless you're sleeping with my brother."

Malon's face wrinkles a little, and I bite back a laugh. "What? NO."

"Good. Because that would be kind of weird." I add: "And not really in your best interest."

"I kind of know that," she says with an eye roll. "And I also know about your idea for going to the Taste."

"More like my dad's. He suggested it."

"Sheik says he'd be willing to take a vacation at the pawn shop to watch the bakery for you."

"So long as I bring him back ribs that will get super disgusting?"

"A cooler and some ice?" Link interjects, setting down all the fruit.

I groan. "Not you too."

"I told you, I wanted hot dogs," he says with a shrug, dumping sugar into the mixer bowl.

"I know, I mean about the ribs. Really?"

Malon says, "Hey, he's offering-"

"For ribs."

"-And I'm offering."

I feel my mouth thin out and my throat tighten a little. "What about the ranch? Don't you have duties there that need to be done? You're already hanging around here for a month."

Malon stiffens a little, and then she admits, "Well, I've been kind of thinking of going off and doing my own thing for a while now." She shrugs. "You know, kind of like Romani. It's why I came here back into October, to talk to her."

"I say hot dogs," Link suggests over the grinding of the mixer.

Malon cracks a smile for him. "And I'll grill the best damn hot dog you'll ever have!"

"Sooo, Zellie!" Link calls. The mixer shuts off. "We going to the Taste?"

I sigh. "Sure. I guess. I'll… uh… I'll talk it all over with Sheik and my dad." Link fist pumps the air, and I turn to Malon. "What do you want out of this?" I ask. There _has _to be a catch here for all her help.

"Uh, pay. Like what you're giving me now. Duh," she says. "I'm stupid to ask for ribs for my time."

"I'd hope not. I think I have enough idiocy in my life as it is."

"Is that another crack at me?" Link asks, putting the butter into the mixer

I say innocently, "What?"

When Link finally gets the buttercream done, he plops the bowl on the counter and waits for Malon and I to finish dealing with Hot Bread Guy. Each of us armed with a spoon, we peer down into the purple mush in the bowl, glancing at each other. "I've made strawberry buttercream before," I say, "but I'm starting to have my doubts."

"Think of it as wild berry," Malon says.

But the three of us still stare down at the newest icing concoction.

"I dunno," I say.

Link sniffs.

And then, being the most daring and adventurous of the three of us, Link scoops a bit of it up and sticks it into his mouth. Malon and I just watch, but Link surprisingly has a good poker face. "So," Malon begins, "how is it?"

"Not bad, actually."

Malon and I share a glace and then stick our spoons in for a little bit of icing. Huh. No, it's not too bad at all. Alright! Something worked out!

"You got lucky," Malon says. She gives an approving nod to the batch of icing.

"I figured if strawberries can make pink icing, we could somehow make purple."

Malon claps her hands. "So! Can I ice the cake?"

There's a gurgling noise that interrupts her, and Malon and I shoot Link a look. "I'm uh… pretty hungry." He gives me that sheepish look of his. "Can we eat the lunch Mal brought now?"

…

Link's brow furrows, and his mouth thins as we walk up the drive way with dinner in hand. "Didn't I tell you to head back home today?" he asks.

"You did," Aryll confirms, "but it's pretty nice not to see so many trees. I can actually see the sky." She pulls away from the telescope she's set up in the front yard. "Farore's star is really bright tonight. Wanna see?"

"No." Aryll shrugs, and sticks her face back to the telescope, and Link looks at me helplessly. Sheik and I got in trouble together, so I just shrug back, not really knowing what to do. "Aryll," Link pleads. "Please. You need to go home. Grandma's worried sick about you."

"Well, she knows I'm here now that you've told her," she says. The telescope shifts a little away from us and up.

"That doesn't matter," Link tells her. "And you're missing school now."

"Not much, actually. Everyone acts like a bunch of monkeys anyway in my classes."

Link sighs. Giving up on trying to fight her, he saunters across the yard and into the house. I watch as the storm door slowly eases closed. When it clicks shut, Aryll finally speaks to me. "He talks a lot about you, you know," she says.

"I've heard."

"From Knil?"

"Yeah."

"He's pretty weird. So serious, all the time. My grandma never understood how Link and him could be friends." She laughs a little. "It was on his suggestion that Link finally got in a fight with Mido."

I snort. "That would be something I'd like to see. He's so passive."

She pulls back, and her eyes slide over to me. "Trust me, but neither of us really want you to get in our little spat, so if you have anything to say, keep it to yourself."

"He's just worried about it you."

"I know," she says. "And I don't want to hear it from you.

"Oh hey! You can see Nayru's Love!" Aryll waves me over, and I take a hesitant glance back at the house. Shaking my head – like the damn house is going to help or do anything – I take a few steps forward as Aryll moves out of the way.

I stick my eye to the telescope and look through it. Yeah… this sort of thing was never my forte. "I don't see anything but a cluster of stars," I tell her, pulling away. "Like… I can find the Little Dipper, but that's it – or is it the big one? I don't know!" I ramble on. "I can never tell the difference."

"My mom used to point out all the constellations to me," Aryll says softly. Her breath puffs out in front of her face in a misty fog, and her gaze is locked up at the night sky. "The three of us used to spend hours at night, especially in the summer, trying to find them. Link ever tell you that?"

"He doesn't say much about your family." I scratch my head and say, "Well, I mean, he talks about you and your grandmother constantly, but the only thing he's ever said about your parents was that they died."

Aryll looks down. "Oh. I see."

"Honestly, Aryll, you should probably head home soon before Link throws you into your own car and takes you back himself."

She doesn't reply, but shakes her head, and her blonde pigtails go flying. "What's for dinner?" she asks. "I'm kind of hungry."

"Uh, chicken cordon bleu. We've been getting kind of lazy."

She shrugs. "Dinner is dinner. Tell Link that I'm just going to find a few more things, and then I'll pack up and head inside."

"Sure," I stutter and bolt away.

The other blond is clattering away in the kitchen as he throws dinner into the oven. He looks up as he shuts the oven door. "Hey."

"You have a pretty interesting sister," I say.

"She likes stargazing."

I plop myself into one of the chairs around the table. "Good thing Malon decided not to eat with us."

"Yeah," he grunts, and pulls his hat off to run a hand through his hair.

"Link."

"What?" he snaps.

"Link."

He gives me a hard look.

"What do you want to do for the Taste?"

At this his expression melts into confusion, and he asks, "What do you mean?"

"My dad suggested to try out a new cake flavor at the Taste. Sheik did too," I say with a wave of my arm. "Said to do something 'summery'."

Link sits down opposite of me and scratches at the back of his head as he thinks it over. "New flavor, huh?"

"Yup." I say. My hand claps the surface of the table. "I really don't have any idea on where to start with that."

We sit in silence for a while, mulling it over until Aryll breaks the quiet of the house. The doors clatter and click, and she walks through the front room and through the kitchen lugging her telescope. She puts it away in the den off of the kitchen and clambers up the few steps into the kitchen. "How much longer?" she asks, a new cheer in her voice.

"Thinking!" Link groans.

Aryll arches an eyebrow. "About what?" she asks.

"New cake flavor," I reply.

Then it's Aryll, Link and I sitting at the table, our heads on our hands thinking about it. All I can think about is cinnamon and pumpkins – fall crap. I always hated summer. The only disturbance in our thinking is the oven going off, and Link retrieves it. We dig into it in a silence more contemplative than awkward.

"Maybe we should have gotten that macaroni," Link mumbles after as I pick up all the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

Aryll scoffs at him. "You'd end up playing with it," she says, striding over to the refrigerator. The fridge hums as she opens the freezer.

"Mashed potatoes are a much better medium for sculpting," Link insists.

"Whatever, Brother," she says, pulling out a Popsicle. She tosses the wrapper away and sits back down at the table with me. Link looks hard at the Popsicle in her hand, and noticing, Aryll furrows her brow. "What?" she asks.

Link doesn't say anything, and Aryll shrugs, giving up on him and bites into the Popsicle. "That's it!" he finally shouts, startling us both. Aryll loses a bit of her treat in her lap.

"What?"

"Popsicles!"

I groan and throw my face into my hands. "Link, no more jokes!"

"No, not the jokes!" he babbles. "The flavor!"

"There's no one flavor for Popsicles, Link," I remind him.

"No, but there's a lemonade one!"

"What?"

Aryll works out Link thought process quicker than I do, and says, "He means to make a lemonade cake." Shifting her eyes between us, she adds, "I think."

"Lemonade, huh?" I think it over. Well, we can't just melt some Popsicles. "What if we used a frozen concentrate?"

"There's limeade, too," Aryll interjects.

"Cherry limeade," Link throws in.

The blond siblings list off different combinations of limeade and lemonade. It could be pretty simple, I suppose. "Pink lemonade?" Link says, and at this I perk up a bit.

"Dye the cake pink," I say.

"And green?"

"Green?"

"For limeade," Link says.

"Okay, okay," I say, shaking my hands to get them both to shut up. That's right! Jazz hands! All around! "Here's what we can do: we can make two cake flavors and hope they're not disgusting. We still need icing, so we can make a limeade and lemonade icing, as well as some other flavors."

"Like cherry?"

"Yes, Link, like cherry."

"Raspberry icing with lemonade cake," Aryll suggest.

"Exactly!"

"Zellie. We doing this?"

"Oh hell yeah! We'll give it a shot!" I exclaim, slapping the table with one hand. "That berry icing turned out pretty good today."

"Hoy!" Aryll calls. "Big Brother! Can I stay another day?" she asks him, sugar lining her voice. She gives me a pouty look, and I can see Link's internal battle on trying to resist. "I want to try your cakes," she adds on.

And Link finally relents, unable to deny his little sister. "Sure," he agrees. "But! You have to go back to Grandma's the day after. Got it?"

"Deal!" she squeaks.

* * *

><p>Oh. Dear. God. NEVER. AGAIN.<p>

I wrote the majority of this in May, and everything with the exception of the first scene, I hand wrote throughout the month. Took freaking forever! I won't do that again. Nope. The typing part certainly flew by at least.

I spent all of April reworking the details and how I want the story to end as well as a post one-shot plot that ties into said ending. Yes! I am doing another story set after _ZC_, but I think I'm going to draw it as a comic, which is why I spent so much time working on planning everything. I also printed this out and submitted it to my professor in April; it hit 60,000 words by the time I turned it in and was about 220 pages or so. I printed out _Con-__Operated_ and submitted that, and that was about 90 pages at the time and 24,000 words. Yes, I ran out of ink.

If you guys want more info on the one-shot, I will be posting updates about it on my blog, Crab Claws: rumandthesea dot blogspot dot com. It's so far titled "It Tastes Like Purple", a joke I also ended up throwing in this chapter. Also, you guys can see the torture I'm enduring in my computer class as well as a dispatch from the bakery.

Another thing though, is that I've actually based Kakariko off of the town I currently live in, and rather than babble on about it on here, I was thinking of making a post on Crab Claws about it. If you guys are interested in hearing about all the nuttiness about my 400 year old town and how it applies. I'll have to get a good day off to go around and get some pictures too. It's been hot. Muggy. Rainy. Frustrating! I want to go outside! Sound like a plan?

And what is this new Image Manager? Checking it ooouuut.

Anyway! Sorry it took forever to write this, guys; I will see you guys in _Coin-Op_ if you're following that or here next time!

:DD


	12. Sleep and Awakening

Zombie Cake

12.0

Sleep and Awakening

Half past ten. Goddesses, I am never going to get any damn sleep! I groan, my face in my hands, and kick Link away for the millionth time. I swear, it's like he's an animal; he has to go where it's warm. Dumb boy. He rolls over and curls up in a ball again, but he'll be back to leech my body heat. At least I haven't been pushed out of bed like the few times I shared one with Malon. And then with the bazillion old beat up comforters, there's no competition for the blankets. Sheik. Many a night have I been left cold because of that blanket hog.

I roll onto my side and slam my pillow over my head.

It feels like an eternity of rolling underneath the pillow before I lift it off my head. Quarter after eleven. Oh Nayru. I groan and try to roll onto my back, only to land on a couple of Link's limbs. If there's one other thing owning more blankets than necessary that's great, is that I have the ability to leave and still be warm. I crawl over Link, who immediately rolls over into the empty, warm space I've left, and make myself a nest on the floor. Yes! Personal space bubble has been achieved! I snuggle in and shut my eyes for what I hope is the last time tonight.

But something's not right.

My eyelids flicker as I try to make out my surroundings in the dark. Same room. Same blankets. Same carpet. Except-

Oh come on!

I try to wiggle away, but my squirming on makes Link tighten his hold on me. I can't even see the clock from here. I probably don't want to anyway. At this point, I think I need enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant in order to get a decent night's sleep. Link shifts behind me, and although he's no longer cuddling me like an oversized teddy bear, his arm still lays across me. I wiggle away to get my space and gingerly move- oh who am I kidding? I throw it off. Scooting away even more, I curl up in my blanket when I notice something.

I lean over and poke Link in his side; he jerks and snorts in his sleep, but I get nothing else out of him. I pick up his hand and, squinting in the dark, try to make out the odd thing that caught my eye. My fingers run over the back of his hand, and nothing sticks out. Clearly though, there is something there. I sacrifice some of my space and scoot back closer to him. The glow from the alarm clock is dull, but I lift his hand up to try and catch what little light there is.

What the-? I would think he'd hurt himself if it wasn't so big, but it's not a scab or anything either. Running my thumb over it, I notice that it's not even raised. It takes me a bit, but then I recognize the familiar lines and shapes on the back of his hand.

His hand flops back down into the mass of blankets. I squirm away frantically, stuffing my own hand back into the blankets. Din, please lop off that part of my arm right now.

Link hiccups a little.

Oh sweet Nayru. This must be some sick, divine joke.

**…**

All day, I've been watching Link with narrowed eyes. I see how you're doing this. Motherfucker! Gloves were my idea _first_. Not that I even really know what the hell is going on, but something is for sure up. Why _the fuck_ does Link have the _exact_ same mark on his left hand that I have on my right? Furthermore, what does it even mean?

"Zel. Ze-eel. Zelda!"

"What!" I snap.

"I think the butter has had its ass beaten enough," Malon mutters to me.

"Huh?" I shut off the mixer and peer into the bowl. Oh. O-oh! Crap! How long have I been zonked out? I glance between Malon, who raises an eyebrow at me, and over to the two bickering blond siblings standing at the front window. "How long have I been zoned out?" I whisper to Malon.

"I dunno, a little bit, but _they_," Malon says, poking a slender finger in the blonds' direction, "haven't noticed. If that's what you were trying to infer."

I sigh. "Good," I mutter, dumping in a little confectioner's sugar.

"Zelda," Malon says tentatively. "What's wrong?"

"Honestly, Malon, I have no idea."

"So it's not about Sheik?" she asks, doing little to mask her surprise.

I do a double take. "What? What're you talking about?"

It's Malon's turn to look between me and the siblings. "Um, let's talk elsewhere," she says, nodding to Link and Aryll.

I give them a quick look. Eh. They should be fine. So long as Link doesn't burn the building down. I can see it now: flaming bread bombs. I shake my head and roll my eyes. Nodding at Malon, I say, "Okay." I call out to Link and Aryll, and they cease their arguing and look back at me. "Malon and I are going out back," I say.

"What? What for?" Link asks.

"FACULTY SMOKE BREAK!" And I shoot out the back door, Malon trailing behind me and giggling away.

The back door rattles shut, and Malon's face loses the humor it has. Seriousness creeps over her features. She opens her mouth then shuts it as I wait patiently. One red brow furrows as she mulls over her thoughts before she sucks in a breath. Her chest puffs out and she stands a little taller. "I think Sheik's in some deep shit."

"What kind of deep shit?"

"I don't know, but it can't be good," she says. "I… Well, you know, he was expecting me to eat with you guys last night, right?"

"Yeah," I press.

Malon shifts on her feet and crosses her arms. "So he wasn't expecting me to show up when I did, and Vaati was actually there."

"_WHAT_?" I blurt.

"Yeah." She nods. "I'm not even joking."

"This is bad news."

Malon shrugs. "I was just wondering if, you know, he's the reason Sheik was asking you for money a couple months back."

"He said it was for school," I tell her, "but I wonder that now too." I swear to myself and spit on the ground. "I thought we were done with this shit."

"I did too," Malon agrees.

We give each other a hard look, and in silent mutual agreement, we head back into the bakery.

I'd met Malon during my stupid years. It was the start of high school, and we were both attending the same boarding school. For a long time, she was just that redhead in my class until we were partnered to work with each other on a history project. The next thing I knew, we were plotting our revenge on our shitty dorm roommates, and when our history teacher called the Great Sea Republic a continent and accused Malon of letting me do all the project work, we formed a mutual front that she was full of shit.

Malon and I became a diabolical team, especially after our request to become roommates was accepted. Our second year was also the year Sheik officially came into the picture. My father encouraged us to spend time together, and Sheik was shipped off to school with me. It was fine by me. I didn't care. It meant that there'd be less forced interaction between us, and we avoided each other like the plague. After getting into a few scuffles with one another – over what, I can't remember at all – Sheik and I found some sort of bonding in our fist fights. The diabolical duo of Malon and I became a trio with Sheik.

My ultimate trials of trust between Sheik and Malon also came to fruition that year. Sheik convinced me somehow (and remember, I have admitted to these years as being the stupid years) to not only allow him to pierce my ears himself, but to pierce my nose too. Body modification among the Sheikah has long since been a tradition of trust and coming of age in the clan, and my new stepbrother wanted to share it with me. I, of course, later had the honor of shoving a couple of needles through his earlobes.

"Are you sure?" I'd asked. "Shouldn't you just like… I don't know go to some shop? You're old enough."

He rolled his eyes. "Zelda. Tradition," he reiterated. "And we're not using sewing needles or anything. And we're not sharing needles, so you're not going to die from some crazy disease I'm carrying."

"I understand that, but-"

"Zelda, just shut up and shove the damn thing through."

I didn't cry when he pierced me (three times!), but damn did I want to two nights later when in the community showers, I snagged my new nose bling on a towel. Sheik was saved from such pain. I also promised myself right then and there, after worrying myself silly about all the terrible possibilities, that tradition could go fuck itself. I wasn't letting Sheik near me with another needle in my life.

The stupid years, am I right?

Malon and I joined the working world that year together, getting part time jobs at a shoe store together (where later on after getting pierced, I was attacked by a shoe). With actual cash in our pockets, we plotted and plotted until we were hit simultaneously by a stroke of pure genius. Our dorm room was next door these extremely prissy Gerudo girls who mocked our interests and our sense of fashion every chance they got. From our CDs, to our video games, to our shoes, to my freshly stretched earlobes, to Malon's flaming head of hair – which ironically wasn't a far cry from the shade of their hair. Maybe having a tan that makes you look like a bronze statue and caked on make-up had something to do with it. I don't know.

Either way, after what seemed an eternity of these girls relentlessly hazing us (and even locking Malon in the janitor's closet), when we were perusing the mall one day after school, we stopped in a music store, and I knew we had a certain something when I saw it. I called Malon over, and that wicked, scheming smile stretched over her face. We put in a request at work right after, and began our plans for a trip to Lake Hylia. When the time came, Malon and I shoved our stereo speakers up against our common wall with the Gerudo girls, turned them up to full volume and threw in our new "Shad Argyle on the Beach" CD. After putting it on repeat, we locked the door and left for the weekend. And when we came back, Malon was right there next to me when the two bitches next door showed up at our room to deliver an ass beating to us. We didn't necessarily win that particular fight as the dorm leader interrupted us and saved our hides, but the water at the lake was fantastic.

I'm also still not sorry that Malon and I crazy glued their stupid, fashionable metallic flip flops and sandals together after said fight either.

I also admit that nowadays when I think about them, I like imagine that they got fat.

Hey, there's a bitch somewhere in all of us.

The further along in high school we got, the more trouble we elicited. Although we were hardly ever caught to begin with, this was the sort of trouble that you really didn't want to be finding yourself caught in. Malon always went back to the ranch for summer holiday, so it was just Sheik and me for the summers. Sheik knew this kid Vaati from his old school, and he introduced me to him and the other kids that Vaati regularly partied with. Living in the city, it was easy for Sheik and I to just tell our parents, "Hey, we're going to go see this show or this movie, and blah blah blah," and they'd take it without so much a second thought.

Instead of going to movies or concerts like our parents thought, Sheik and I would venture out to meet Vaati and his gang in the grungier side of Castle Town. We partied in this old row house that everybody would swear was haunted. We heard a little girl singing upstairs, and saw a stern woman in one of the bedrooms up there as well. There was a _thing_ in the basement that had all the thrill seekers going down there and setting up little rituals to get some sort of activity going.

Again, these were the stupid years, and stupid is as stupid does. Sheik and I killed more than a handful of brain cells those summers with Vaati. It was the first time I ever had a brownie. Being the little amateur baker I was then, I was all for trying somebody else's recipe, although after taking one bite into it… wasn't exactly the brownie I thought it was. As time went by, I steadily became more aware of how deep Sheik and I were getting into shit.

We stayed away from all the stuff, but that didn't stop the kid sitting next to us to snort up a line, and then offer us one. We still partied like the rest of them though, knocking back beers and shots of hard liquor, and then throwing up over the railing in the backyard. One time the plumbing in the house got busted, and I ended up having to spend half the night leaning against somebody's truck so I wouldn't piss on my own pants.

The last straw I had with Vaati though was when he called me over to the row house, where he was officially living in at that point. It was the last summer after I graduated before I went off to college. I went without Sheik, and I regret that every day. When I showed up, Vaati and I played some video games, before he asked me about going for a ride. He told me my car had better gas mileage and asked if I would drive, and after his offer to help pay for gas, I agreed.

What I didn't agree to was us going to a temple and stealing donations, and this put Vaati in a bit of a sour mood. I also don't ever recall telling him, "Yeah, breaking into somebody's car to steal their shit sounds like an awesome thing to do!" I put my foot down. I did a lot of stupid stuff before when I was a doormat, but I wasn't going to let myself get steamrolled.

We drove at least a hundred miles around town that night. Him making me back track: "Oh wait, turn around, we actually need to go to that convenience store on Second Street." I was pissed off by the end of the night. Especially after I found out what he brought into my car.

Four pills of molly were sitting in my glove box as we pulled up at the store. "Hold on," Vaati told me, and if I wasn't sure my ass would have gotten in some hot water over those damn pills, I probably would have left him there. After a few minutes, Vaati came back out, got back in the car and told me we had to wait a little longer. "He's using the can."

"Who?"

"He'll just be a minute."

I didn't even know who this kid was, but this kid comes strutting out of the store, lights a cigarette, and hops into my backseat. "Hey, is it okay if I smoke this in here?"

Thanks, dipshit.

But I let him, and told him to roll the window down. We drove back through town to a small well to do neighborhood. The kid in the backseat directed me to a house, got out and walked into the garage. He came back out, plopped himself back in my car, and set a scale down on my console. I took one look, then turned and stared straight down the street.

Motherfuckers.

In my car that summer night, Vaati exchanged two pills of molly for a gram of cocaine, and I was freaking the fuck out.

After the kid got out of my car (I never even got his name – figures), I peeled out of there, intent on taking Vaati back to the row house and dumping him there for good. But instead, he begged me to turn the car around, and that we needed to go somewhere else. He wanted to sell the last two pills, and more eager than anything to get that shit out of my car, I drove him.

The stupid years.

He sold the pills, I got him back to the row house, and what'd I get? He gave me a kiss on the cheek, a "Thank yooou!" and five dollars.

I stormed into the house the next morning. "We're never going back," I hissed at Sheik. I recounted the story, but Sheik either didn't take it all for truth or he just chose to ignore it. We fought over it constantly, but we never really _talked_ about it.

We actually didn't have to talk about it after Sheik broke his nose not too long after my drive alone with Vaati.

He came home about four in the morning, his nose dripping blood. "What the fuck happened to you?" I asked him as we crawled out onto the roof from his bedroom window. We sat above the porch and Sheik told me the nightmare of a night he went through.

Sheik had gone to pick up some weed from some Zoras. They were giving him and Vaati some great deals on the stuff, saying they'd charge them this for a dime, but then adding a little extra on top. Shit like that. They cut them deals money wise the more they bought, so Sheik was sent out to pick up an ounce from these dudes.

One guy gave him the bag, and then when Sheik went to hand him the money, he got a good whiff of it and realized it was oregano. Sheik threw it back in the guy's face. The next thing he knew, the Zora grabbed him by the shirt and punched him in the face. Panicking at this point, Sheik threw the car into reverse, as the guy called out for his buddies. They pooled out from the house, and my idiot step-brother slammed on the gas.

He ended up running over somebody's legs, but Sheik didn't stop.

"Sheik," I groaned, slapping a hand to my face.

"Dude, I'm serious!"

"You can't deal with the Zoras. You're not a Zora!"

He huffed. "I think I know that now."

A silence lay around us before he asked, "Would you deal with a Goron?"

"Hell no!" I had blurt. "Actually, fuck, I don't think I would even deal with another Hylian. _This is what I was fucking talking about_!"

Sheik had certainly peeled out of there, told Vaati the deal went sour, and then he left and came home a bloody mess.

We didn't have to say anything to know we were fucking done with Vaati and his friends.

To get away from all that shit is precisely why Sheik left Castle Town to move back to Kakariko, his hometown. It's quiet here, and there's less chance for trouble, both of which Sheik was starting to find appealing about the very place he bitched about for so long. He pissed and moaned for years about going back to Kakariko for visits because it was boring, and there wasn't anything to do in town. Now that was a dream come true, and I couldn't have agreed more.

With Malon's news of Vaati's reappearance, worry for my stupid brother eats at me. We plaster on the fake smiles and the cheer when Link asks us what's wrong. "Nothing," I chime, and he gives us a weird look. Aryll only leans on the bread case with a bored expression on her face, not betraying any of her emotions, and I suddenly feel a pang for the girl. Aryll seems to, for the most part, have all her values in order, and certainly doesn't present herself to be the doormat I once was.

"We got the cakes cooled," Link says.

I nod. "Alright then," I say. "Trim them, and I'll finish up the buttercream."

"Aye, Cap'ain!"

**…**

I come home from Link's only to find Sheik lounging on my couch in the den. Nayru, please. Can I have five minutes to myself when I'm not sleeping?

"Where were you?" he asks me, not even bothering to look up from the magazine in his hands. He flips to another page casually. Ass.

"Link's," I reply. "Saw his little sister, Aryll, off."

"He has a sister?" Sheik briefly pauses in his page turning and lowers the magazine a little as he muses. Then he shrugs and goes back to it.

"Yes," I say. "I think I like her. She's got some spunk."

"Like you?"

I glaze right over that. "What're you doing here, Sheik?" I sigh, dropping my backpack on the floor and shrugging off my coat.

"What's up with you and Link?" he asks me.

I pause at this, my hands frozen on my scarf. "What're you talking about?" Oh-oooh. Defensive much, Zelda?

Sheik doesn't notice my hesitation, too busy flipping through the magazine. "You guys have been acting funky as of late. Something wrong?"

"No," I say, and take note not to take off my gloves. I end up rewrapping my scarf around my neck. There! Now you little guys won't look so stupidly alone! Right? Din, it's like, seventy-two in here. Who am I kidding?

Fuck it. Rollin'!

I plop down in one of the chairs. "We made raspberry and cherry buttercream today."

Sheik looks over at me with a disgusted frown on his face. "Like together?"

"No, separate."

"Oh," he whistles. "That probably would have been kind of gross."

"Maybe."

"So. Uh. Yeah."

"Yup."

"Make new cake flavors too?"

"Lemonade and limeade."

"Cool, cool."

"Yeah, it worked out. Didn't taste nasty."

"You gonna do that for the Taste?"

"I think so."

"Awesome."

"Yeah."

"Mm-hm."

"Sheik," I say, "this is like talking to my dad on the phone."

His eyes flicker around the room before he starts doing that snort laugh and goes back to his magazine. My stomach however, gives a little churn.

I open my mouth to add on to my previous statement, but shut it.

I don't even mention Vaati.

**…**

Goddamn it, Link.

I've been sitting outside of his house for about fifteen minutes now. "I'm at the store! I'll be back soon, I swear!" Uh-huh. I groan and throw my head back. At least my butt's warmed up the cold brick on his stoop. Maybe I should just go back into my car…

As I consider this possibility, I lift my head up in time to see a familiar face come blowing out of the house across the street. The girl stops, and we stare at each other before she stalks to the end of her driveway. I pull myself up as her head whips back and forth before she makes a run for it across the street. Her wild ponytail flailing behind her and her furry coat hood bouncing, Midna jogs across Link's yard to meet me. "Hey," she breathes.

"Hi. Haven't seen you in a while," I say.

"Yeah." Midna shoves her hands into her pockets and plays with a loose rock on the pathway with her shoe. "So uh, how's that thing with you and Link that you do?"

"Baking?" I shrug. "Yeah, it's going pretty good, I guess. Making a profit."

"That's cool."

"So… how's that thing you were doing for school?"

"Oh! The tree project?" she says, looking up from her feet. "Yeah, I finished that a while ago. I mean, they all kind of lost all their leaves by now, you know?"

"Yeah, trees aren't exactly interesting this time of year."

She laughs. "I got a B though," she tells me with great pride.

"That's good."

"Wouldn't have gotten it without Link though," she admits.

"Link?" Link? Link? The overgrown child that basically solely watches cartoons and still eats marshmallow cereal? _That_ Link?

Midna brightens a little. "Yeah! Like he helped me put together the display board and all that jazz, and then he helped get my paper up to par. I just didn't do all the requirements." She smirks and scratches at her chin. "Probably would have gotten an A if I did."

I blurt out for clarity, "Link actually helped you?" Damn. When did the guy get so… fuck what's the word? Paternal? Fatherly? Brotherly? Somethingly?

"Yeah." She shrugs and shoves her hands in her coat pockets. "That goof can pull through when you need him, you know? Or… are you guys…?" Midna trails off.

"You know, I thought I could handle dating a man-child," I tell her, leaning back again on the stoop.

Her face falls a little. "Oh. Sooo…"

"What's your opinion on Norwegian Elk hounds?"

"I think you need to go bigger. Why?"

"I was thinking of replacing him with a dog. Less needy."

Midna howls with laughter. Her cheeks round out as her smile pulls and stretches her face. She plops herself next to me, that huge grin still not leaving her face.

"So what were you doing that project for anyway?"

"Oh, just biology."

"You're in biology?" I ask, surprised. "What?"

"Zelda, I'm almost thirteen," she laughs. "But they call it 'Life Science' officially."

"Oh shit," I breathe. "I thought you were like… way younger. Like ten or something."

She taps her feet on the ground and cracks her knuckles. "I'm hoping for a growth spurt," she says with a sneer. "I swear. I'm like one of the shortest in my class now."

I sniff, the cold biting at my nose. "It could happen. You're young enough."

"I can be tough enough too," she jokes, leaning her head on hand.

"Yeah," I say, thinking back to my post-grade school days when I'd finally started throwing off the whole doormat thing.

"Like an onion."

I look over at Midna. "An onion?"

"Layers, man. Layers." She tugs at her coat for emphasis.

I wrinkle my nose, and we both turn our heads the second we hear tires on the pavement. We sit a little straighter, and then we slump back when see that it's not Link's old bus peeling down the road.

Onions.

Nayru, have I really been that shallow? I tug at the plug in my earlobe absently. Maybe I need to dig a little deeper with Link. Layers, right? Everyone's got them, so there has to be something more than just man-child to Link that he's just not showing to me. I jerk my hand away from my ear.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just got this weird pain in my hand," I say, massaging my hand. Hey, you! Triangles! I know it's you! And I know, I know! I don't need you telling me I need to figure out what to do with Link. Farore!

"Pff!" Midna snorts, her head whipping to the side as we finally catch sight of the old, two-tone microbus rolls down to the house. "That's just you getting old."

Oh. Ouch. Thanks.

Where are my wrinkles already?

**…**

Anju's a sweetheart. She is. She really, really is. She's trying her hardest not to laugh at me, and I know it, because I can see the little quirk in the corner of her mouth. She tries to keep it pushed down for my sake though. I appreciate the sentiment, but shit. There's no point. Just laugh at me already!

The spoon in her hand scrapes the side of the mug as she stirs her coffee. The early morning light tints her grey hues as she avoids looking at me, trying to hold in the laughter. Anju, I don't blame you. I sigh, looking out her kitchen window for the umpteenth time. Finally, she says to me, setting the spoon aside, "Well, you know, they can be pretty dense sometimes. Especially if what you say about Link is true."

"Anju, I don't know how much clearer I can get. Besides, you've met the idiot." Yes, idiot. So much for onion layers. Right, Midna? I scoff at the thought, but Anju pays no mind. There's a part of me now that wonders if Link is just playing the fool to get under my skin or something, I swear.

Lifting the mug to her face, I see an eyebrow twitch as she flicks her eyes back to me. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Oh goddesses," I groan, and I slam my head straight down onto Anju's breakfast table. The dishes rattle, and the little bit of wetness on the tip of my ear tells me my own coffee sloshed out of my mug. Anju lets a giggle escape her as she waits for my reply. "I _can't_ believe I'm talking about this.

"Like… I don't know. This is on par with how this one kid, Ralph, tried getting with me in high school." I mutter more to myself than Anju, "Egotistical ass."

Anju shakes a little her in chair and, seeing my glare, smiles brightly at me and waves it off. "What'd you say to him, Zelda?" she asks me again. I roll my face back into the wooden table top and mumble to her. "What?"

"We kept running around in circles, right?" I say, bolting up. I quickly ramble off to her, "So finally, I get pissed off, and I asked him straight up if he wanted to shag. How much clearer do I have to get?"

Anju can't hold it in anymore, and she just cracks the fuck up at me. Thanks. Thanks, Anju. "He didn't reply?"

"He sent me back a message after an hour saying, 'Shag?' Like it's something freaking new!"

"Maybe they don't use that kind of slang down south. He's from Ordon, right?"

"Well, I finally asked him if he'd ever heard that before, and he was like, 'Austin Powers?'"

Anju's pearl of laughter bubbles up into the air, and I let out a groan and slam my face back onto the table. "You know, he could have just been hesitating."

"Anju, what in the world could make him hesitate? I'm pretty sure at this point that he's not gay, although you can never rule it out, I suppose. I mean, there are dudes that have _families_ before they're like, 'Hey, I've been living a lie. Peace out.'"

She shrugs her shoulders, letting me to continue to ramble on, and Anju takes another sip of her coffee. "He could have just been intimidated," she suggests, interrupting my tangent.

"Are you shitting me?" I holler. Really? Intimidated? Actually… hm, I think I might want to test that out on somebody sometime. Ho! Little, tiny me actually being able to scare somebody shitless? Interesting…

I shake my head, ridding myself of my evil genius plans as Anju continues. "What I'm saying is that he could have been thinking along the lines of, 'Oh my gawd, this is really happening. I better not mess this up or it will _never_ happen again.'"

"Anju."

"Hm?"

"Why the hell am I speculating about this stupid shit with you?"

"It's what ladies do, Zelda," says Anju with a smirk. "Nice to know somewhere in you is that extra X chromosome."

"This is so dumb," I mumble, and Anju just laughs at me.

As I scowl at her, she tells me, "But seriously, I am glad that you care about something _other_ than your work." And for the first time in this whole stupid conversation, I feel my face flush.

I saved dessert from you on Harvest Moon, woman!

**…**

Link snorts. "Zellie," he says with warning, but I don't listen. He hisses in my ear, "Don't fall for it."

"Shove it!"

"Zelda, come on," Sheik sneers. "You know it as well as I do, the second anybody poses any sort of challenge to you, you go all primal apeshit on their ass. You're a stubborn mule."

"Fuck off!" I holler. "I do _not_!"

"See?" Sheik pokes, and Link groans next to me, watching the two of us bicker.

Just to prove him wrong, I don't respond when he tries to further antagonize me. Although we both know, I'd be out trying to punch his lights out at this point. I scowl. Nayru! Why must he know me so well?

The three of us bound down the wooden planks of the strip, occasionally waving at the employees in other shops we know as we walk. Wreathes with dried fruit hang on many of the shop doors, and displays centered on pineapples line windows. The frosty air nips at our exposed faces, the temperature dropping the further the sun sets. We haven't seen snow yet, but by the look of it, it shouldn't be long now. Especially with Grand Illumination coming up.

Sheik moves in front and Link scoots a little closer to me to make room for other passersby out doing their shopping. With Sheik in front of us, I sneak a glance over at Link. I straighten out, and a familiar prickling pokes at the skin on my hand. Oh, what now? I take another look.

He looks older. There's a hollowness to his face that wasn't there before. A spark lights itself in my chest. Is he still upset with Aryll running off from Ordon? Or upset that she's gone again? Her appearance in Kakariko seems to have spurred a change in Link. Although for the most part, he still seems himself when around me, and the whole shagging conversation floats back into my mind. But what Midna also said to me the last time I saw her hits home. Like an onion. There's got to be layers.

I nudge him with my elbow, and I mouth to him, "What's wrong?" Link looks to Sheik's back before turning to me and shaking his head.

I frown at him.

For one beat, we both hesitate in our steps. And then we soldier on.

We reach Dragmire's construction site. Or what should be a construction site. The three of us stand side by side, and I'm the first to say something about what we're looking at. "The fuck is this?"

Link cocks his head to the side. "Doesn't look like they're digging a foundation. A cellar?"

"The water level on this side of town is way too high for that because of the river. It's like he's digging for something," Sheik says. "Like an archeological dig?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, what'd they find now? Pieces of old Goron pottery?"

Link straightens a little.

"What's up?"

He shakes his head and looks around. "Nothing. I just sort of feel like we're being watched or shouldn't be here."

"Well, we kind of shouldn't," I remind him as I lean over to get a better view of the dig. "I think this qualifies as trespassing."

"Zelda, don't," says Sheik as I descend down into the pit of what should be a foundation. The ground is brittle and dry under my Chucks with a layer of frost to coat it; just another sign that snow is coming soon. I jog out to the middle of the pit and look around. The prickling in my hand flares up, and my gut gives a sickening twist. "Zelda!" calls Sheik. I turn back, and ignoring Sheik, my eyes lock on Link's. The hollowness in his eyes seems to deepen as he stares out at me and the pit.

And right then, I know there is something buried under that look.

I climb out of the pit. "This is what Knil wanted us to see?"

"I guess so," Link says.

Sheik says, "Smells fishy."

"It does," I agree as Link takes hold of my hand and helps pull me out.

The three of us take another minute to look out at the strange pit before turning and leaving. After shooting us a few glances, Sheik decides to lighten our moods and joke. While the heaviness in my stomach that had settled melts, a twinge of annoyance begins to peck at me. Sheik's ended up, of course, poking fun at me, but this time ropes Link in with him.

Jackass.

Link and Sheik hoot and howl as we stop at an intersection just before the strip starts. Sheik's eyes trail off and he turns away as he makes another comment to illicit a reaction out of me, and Link laughs. And there it is, a golden opportunity.

So I do the only thing I can think of.

Link lets out a yelp.

"Link, man," Sheik laughs, turning around. "You alright? You sound like a scared dog or something."

"She-!" Link exclaims, clamping a hand to his ear. "She just fucking _bit_ me!" he shouts, pointing at me.

Sheik looks between Link and me, amusement written all over his face. Smirking, he tugs his scarf back up over his mouth and nose as I say innocently, "Really Link, are you sure it's not just the cold?" The red walk man changes to green, and I blow past, leaving them both behind me.

"Siren!" Link shouts at my back, and it takes everything I have to keep myself from bursting out laughing at his dumb ass as their feet pound the pavement behind me to catch up.

* * *

><p>I was pretty divided on this one for a while, but I made the decision, so here's my little PSA:<p>

**DO NOT SELF OR HOME PIERCE.** It's downright nasty and dangerous. Your bathroom/kitchen/overall house is not a clean environment and you can never never NEVER truly sterilize objects like sewing needles or safety pins. The only way to sterlize a proper blade or cannula needle is to run it through an autoclave. Things like piercing through veins or shattering cartilage can happen when you do not have any proper training.

Also, would like to mention piercing guns are bad, bad news.

This was something I seriously considered as a career before I ended up absolutely loving my job as a baker, so I can't in good conscience talk about home piercing in my story and not say anything about it. I was torn on putting it in, but I did mention Sheik being the one responsible for Zelda's earlobes being pierced before. I also wanted to pull from the OoT manga where Impa pierces Link's ears as a right of passage and blah blah blah. But seriously. Do your research and go to a reputable parlor to get pierced; these guys spend countless hours learning about blood borne pathogens, sterlization, cross contamination and anatomy to do what they do. But as in any profession, there are shitty piercers, so educate yourself!

Okay, that's out of the way.

The whole thing with Sheik breaking his nose, the cocaine drive and the Austin Powers text conversations are based off true stories. My old supervisor at a previous job and I were talking about how we broke our noses and he told me that story and how he learned skinny white boys can't go dealing with people who aren't skinny white boys. I didn't have anybody to really guide me in high school either, and in response, I went wild, was a runaway, had a brief stint with homelessness (which sucks major balls, guys) and got mixed up with the wrong people, and shit like that really does happen. I finally got my act straight after the cocaine incident and dropped everyone like hot potatoes. The Austin Powers was a more recent thing, and in retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. I was ticked before, buuuut... haha.

Lastly (man, this is long), thank you to the people who reviewed _Coin-Operated_'s last chapter and the other few who PM'ed me! Our friend is alive, he's doing well considering, but it will take him a long time to recover. After all the surgeries, he's now short half a leg, but alive, and we're all thankful, and I wanted to pass on his thanks for all the good vibes. So thank you guys!

:'D


	13. Light and Dark

Zombie Cake

13.0

Light and Dark

"How can you sleep with so many clocks?" Link groans, slamming a pillow onto his head as I crawl back onto the bed. The clocks on my wall tick away in collective clunks.

I'd fallen asleep for a bit. I was dreaming about something, but I can't recall what, no matter how hard I try. I remember the twirling of colorful, flowing circles. They twisted this way and that, and a beat drummed in my heart. A part of me wanted to spin with them. To laugh. To joke. To make nice. As if there was nothing in the world that bothered me in the slightest. What is it with me and these dreams anyway? I gave up though trying to remember the big picture of my latest nighttime escapade when all I can come up with for some reason is the dream I had a while back of Link wandering off in nothing but his boxers. It's a cold world out there, Link, and you couldn't even think to take a sweater… shame. Shaaame.

Whatever.

Hey. Hey subconscious. You're trying to say something. I just know it.

I rub my eyes, trying to get the little blue squares from the computer monitor from swimming across my vision. Instead of trying to go back and get more sleep, I stayed up again and scrounged around on the computer just trying to find anything really about the mark on my hand. Of course, I'm still empty handed besides what's obvious.

I say, "What's wrong with you?"

"Well, you complain constantly that I don't act my age," says Link.

"No," I say, trying to be serious, but laughter laces my voice. I shake my head, even though in the dark, I'm sure he can't see. "I mean…" Fuck. I mean what? There's one thing my mind is shooting for, but I'm suddenly left without any tact as to approach it. Again. It seems like for a few weeks now, Link and I have been living as eskimos. We've been hiding under layers and layers of clothing outside and at home using the winter as a guise and then living in single use gloves that make our hands sweat balls at the bakery. And since my very recent discovery that he seems to have the same exact mark as me, it makes sense how he's been trying to hide it – which is exactly what I've been doing too.

I've been tearing my hair out trying to figure out for days now on how to approach him about it, because frankly, it kind of scares me. Like this shit is weird. There's no greeting card for this sort of thing. Well, there are a lot of awkward things there aren't any greeting cards for.

My nose wrinkles when stray hair tickles it. The ceiling fan whips and chops the air above us, but Link's voice cuts through crystal clear. "What?" He throws the pillow on the floor.

I halfheartedly slap his face. "What's with the gloves?"

"I hear frostbite sucks pretty bad."

"Turn on the fucking light."

"And blind us?"

"Link. Turn on the fucking light."

Link sighs, and rolls over, jostling the entire bed in the process to turn on a light. I'm caught up in the shockwaves again when he flings himself onto his stomach. "I had a dream a while back," I say to him, sitting up. The ceiling and walls flash like a strobe light as my blinking eyes try to adjust.

"About what?"

"I don't really know," I admit, rubbing one eye. "We were in your room when you just got up and left. I just had this sinking feeling that you were gone somehow. Like you went missing, got lost or…" I shrug and finish lamely, "something."

"Hm."

"Link."

"Hm."

"Wake up."

"I'm awake," he grumbles.

"Wake up!" I shout, slapping his back. He yelps at me and starts trying to wiggle away, but I get a good smack on his ass before he just rolls off the bed. I still have the blanket though. Sucker. I immediately cocoon myself in it. Mine!

"Link, seriously," I sigh and go for a direct approach. "What's with the gloves?"

"It's been cold."

"You've been trying to hide your hand because of some stupid mark. What is it?"

There's only a slight pause before another "What?" drifts up to me. I sigh. Link pokes his head up just enough to see over the mattress. His blond hair is scraggly and wild, and I have to snort at how stupid he looks. I wait for more, but nothing follows the "What?"

"Really?" I holler, laughing. "You can't even come up with some dumb lie to tell me about it?"

"I don't know what it is though," he admits.

I wriggle my glove off. "Yeah, that's my question too."

Link's forehead crinkles as his brow draws in. "What?"

"I don't know. I told Malon I got a tattoo when she asked," I say as Link crawls back onto the bed. "It just showed up. Around Harvest Moon. You don't remember asking me about it at all?"

"Well, it's the Triforce," Link says, looking at my hand. The mark isn't as dark these days; like a henna tattoo, it's faded a lot, but still noticeable. He only shrugs his shoulders when I glare at him. "And no, I don't remember. That whole week is kind of blurry between all the food and all the people and all the food…

"Are you mad?"

"_I_ came up with gloves first!" I say stubbornly, slapping him with my glove. "You stole my idea!"

"Sooo, you're not mad?" he asks again.

"Why would I be mad?"

"Don't people normally get mad when someone keeps a secret from them?"

"We're not fucking normal to begin with, Link. I think anybody that spends a day with us can figure that out."

"Because you have the biggest pottymouth on the sea?"

I retort, slipping my glove back on, "You're just a man-child with no real worries.

"Have you ever heard of the Kokiri?" I ask him after a brief pause.

"The what?"

"Kokiri. Fits you perfectly. They're just a myth, but it's said that there was once a village down in the woods of either Faron or Ordona of nothing but children that never grew up."

"Maybe I did get lost," jokes Link.

We continue to banter back and forth until Link stops us. "Weren't we trying to have a serious discussion before?" he asks.

"Link," I yawn, "a pottymouth and an overgrown child can hardly have a serious discussion."

"Yeah! Well…"

"Go to sleep, Link," I tell him, rolling over. "We'll figure it out tomorrow. Or something. We can go to the library, I guess, and see if we can find anything."

"I thought Sheik got you banned from the library."

"I just can't take out books anymore."

"Sounds like a long day."

"Isn't every day?"

Link shuts out the light again, and after a minute or two, he asks, "Can I at least have some of the blanket?"

"Go shit up a rope." But I unwind myself and give him a corner.

**…**

"Hey, what're you doing?"

"I'm at the library, Malon," I say as I throw another book back up onto the shelf.

"Aren't you banned from the library?"

"Thanks to Sheik, I owe a ton of money in overdue book fees," I remind her and pluck another book from the shelf. A woman down at the end of the aisle shoots me a cross look for having my cell phone on my ear. I stick out my tongue at her, and she turns away in a huff. "Doesn't mean I can't come over here and bum around though."

"Well if you're just bumming around, come over," Malon tells me.

"To Sheik's?" I ask.

Malon says, "Well _duh_."

"I'll have to find Link first," I say, flipping through the book quickly. "He's the one that can check out books."

"Fine, fine," says Malon. "But you need to hurry. I don't know when Sheik will be back."

This makes me stop. "What are you doing?" I say. I put the book back; I don't think a book about historical landmarks is what I need right now.

"I found some stuuuff."

I groan, knowing she won't budge. "Alright, give me twenty," I tell her and hang up.

I stalk the aisles up and down, but see no sign of Link. I could have sworn he was only like two rows away from me! Frustrated, I make another round through the first floor rows, and not seeing him anywhere, make my way downstairs again. I scan the open area. There are a few people here and there at the tables and couches, and another few over in the computer section, but no mop of familiar blond sticks out. I sigh and wade through the ground floor's rows of books.

Still no sign.

Link! This is no time for magic acts! Din dammit!

I'm about to give up and just leave him, when I hear the familiar shuffle of Link's footsteps. And he's coming out of the children's section. Of course. Stupid me. Should have been the first place you checked, Zelda.

Seeing my face, he hastily tells me and holds out a book, "I think I found something, Zellie, I swear!"

Taking the book from him, I take a look at it as we head to the front desk. It's a book of old fairytales. "Kiddie stories? Really?"

"There are some stories about the Kokiri," he offers.

"Is there one about losing an idiot child?" I ask, handing the book back to him.

"Well… not that I know of."

"Pity then. We'll never know your true origins."

"You find anything up there?"

"Nope," I say. "And I got interrupted. Malon called, and she wants me over at Sheik's pronto."

"We can come back," Link says.

Link still trails behind me, reading through the book of fairytales, even as we reach Sheik's place. He hunkers along as I barrel out of the car and up the path to his condo. Barging through the door, I shout out, "Mal!"

The redhead pokes out from around the corner of the hall to the bedrooms. "Come on," she beckons. "What took you so long? Twenty minutes my foot." I look around briefly as we pass through the den. Malon has certainly marked her claim here. Her stuff is everywhere. A pile of clothes sits right next to her open suitcase. The couch cushions have been thrown about to open up for the bed where the sheets are mussed.

"I had a hard time finding Link," I tell her as Link finally sashays on in, his nose still in the book as he shuts the front door with his foot.

I follow Malon into Sheik's room, where she picks up a pile of textbooks on the floor and drops them onto the bed. She rifles through a couple, saying, "So, he brought these books home the other day-"

"You went pilfering through his stuff?"

She opens her mouth to retort, and then she sneers a little. "Yeah," she says, her nose wrinkling a little as she nods. "I guess I did. I went snoopin'.

"ANYWAY," she says, finally coming to a stop in one book, "I found this receipt."

I pluck the receipt from her as Link's voice floats in from the hallway where he's sat down. "Hey Zellie! I think I did find a story about a kid leaving the forest…"

I roll my eyes, and inspect the receipt as Malon says, "See?" She points a finger. "It says, 'HOUSE CHARGES'. Doesn't that mean that it was paid for in a way other than cash or credit?"

"Yeah," I tell her, looking over the receipt. "There'd be change rendered or the last digits of the card number listed. A house charge usually refers to paying for something either by loan or grants." I hand it back to her, and she slips it back into the textbook.

"The whole thing is over six hundred rupees," Malon says. "How is that even legal? It's just some paper!"

"You pay more for the time and expertise that it took to write and edit those books than anything."

"I must have saved my dad a fortune by not going to college," she mutters, meticulously putting the books back exactly as Sheik left them. "What do you think?"

"I think he lied about the money."

Malon hollers out, "Exactly!"

"I don't know what he's using it for though if not school."

Malon nods in agreement as she gets back up.

"So what were you guys doing at the library?" Malon asks, looking between Link and me.

Link and I exchange a quick glance, and I say, "Nothing really. Just trying to kill some time."

Malon's eyes glaze over both of us. "Uh-huh. Right." She balls her fists onto her hips as she scrutinizes us. "You know, you could have just told me that I was interrupting something."

"You weren't interrupting anything," I insist. But out of the corner of my eye, I see Link redden a little and stuff his nose a little further into the book. I roll my eyes.

Malon catches this gesture of Link's too, and she cracks up. "HAH! I knew it!" she cries, cackling away. From what I can see of him behind the stupid book, Link looks a little mortified as Malon heaves for air.

"So you're admitting to your scheming?" I ask as the doorbell rings.

Malon flaps a hand. "Pff. Who said I was scheming anything at all?" she says, stepping over Link's limbs as I follow suit. Her laughter still bubbles up into the air. There's a tug on my pant leg as Malon babbles on, and I turn around. Link holds open the book to two pictures on opposite pages of a warrior in a green tunic and a noble woman. Malon stops talking. I hold up a finger to Link and follow Malon. As I come around the corner, I see her peeking through the peep hole. She whips around, her flaming locks swinging, her face pale, and she quickly flings her hands for me to go back into the hallway.

I skitter back just as the door creaks open, and Malon's voice drifts through, firm and hard, "What do you want?"

There's a pause. "I'm looking for Sheik Noll," a voice says with a snort. Light with a slight scratch to it, and I shudder in recognition. I mouth "Shit!" as Link looks at me curiously.

"He ain't here."

"Really now?" Vaati says. "Because I could have sworn I heard you talking to somebody else in there."

"Whelp. Not what you thought," Malon says nonchalantly. "I can talk to the refrigerator, can't I?"

"I think you should step aside." And that's when I push Link up off his ass and into Sheik's bedroom. We scurry under the bed as quietly as we can, me tugging on one of Link's legs to fully conceal it. Link clutches the book to him, and, with wide eyes, he looks between me and the little space between the floor and bed skirt where the bedroom door lies beyond. I swallow the lump in my throat and put a finger to my lips when Link turns back to me.

Malon voices her protests as pairs of heavy feet storm into Sheik's condo. Her is voice shrill as new voices, deep and throaty, attempt to shush her. Link and I exchange nervous looks as the feet finally storm into the bedroom we're currently hiding in. Two pairs of shoes stomp through, crushing the carpet beneath their weight. They check the bathroom and closet before Malon says again, "I'm telling you, he's not here."

"Fine," Vaati says. "Just let him know we stopped by."

"Yeah, yeah." Malon's voice drifts out.

Link and I only breathe a sigh of relief when Malon comes back into the bedroom and lifts up the bed skirt.

**…**

"What the hell is going on with Sheik?" Link asks me as we leave the drive-thru. It's the first thing he's said to me besides his order the entire ride back from Sheik's.

I tell him in all honesty, "I have no idea, but it isn't good."

"How bad do you think it is?"

"Real bad," I groan. "The guy that was talking to Malon is somebody I cut off after he made me take him on drug deals."

"He's not uh… he's not going to die, is he?"

"I hope not."

I sigh as well pull up to a red light, ignoring the mixed look of what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say and fear for my idiot brother on Link's face. "What was it that you were showing me earlier? With the warrior and the noble?" I ask instead.

Link's mood perks up a little at this. "Oh!" He digs back out the book, putting the food between his feet. "It's supposed to be the Hero of Legend and the Princess of Destiny," he says flipping through it. "I showed it to you because they have the Triforce on their hands." I take a quick glance as the light turns green, and indeed, the pictures show a small set of triangles on both of their hands. "It seems like three people are reincarnated every time a new evil arises."

"Three people?"

"I guess one for each piece?"

I sigh again. "Read through all of it and get back to me," I tell him, my eyes flicking around the road.

"Okay."

Half way to Link's, my phone rings. "Hello?"

"Where are you?"

"Where are you?"

Sheik says, "I'm at your house."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought we could hang out."

"Well, _I_ thought maybe I could spend the day not at home."

"Where've you been anyway?" asks Sheik.

I reply, "I've been at the library."

Sheik sniffs. "I thought you got banned from the library like last year or something."

"Get out of my house."

Link snorts next to me, trying desperately not to laugh. I swat his shoulder anyway.

"Sooo… we hanging out?" Sheik asks again.

I huff and look over at Link. He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, just let me drop Link off. Alright?"

Sheik whines on the phone, but I hang up on him, shaking my head. "You guys are all out of whack," I say. I throw my phone into the backseat. A part of me kind of hopes that maybe it'll be sucked into some sort of vortex back there. Never to be found again. Ever. Fucking ever.

"Are you going to ask Sheik about that dude?" Link asks me.

"I don't know." I slap my leg. "I mean, I'll have to say something to him eventually, I'm sure, but…"

"Don't know how?"

"Nope."

"Don't want to?"

"Nope."

"You want me to come with you?"

"It's fine. I'll figure something out."

When I finally drop him off at home, I watch for a bit as he walks up the drive. But when he hears me begin to pull out, he stops and skitters back over to my car. I roll down my window, and he says to me, "You don't have to be afraid; it's only love."

**…**

The Grand Illumination was upon us before any of us knew it. On the eve of the four day celebration, Link, Malon, Sheik and I plop down in my den, having somehow made it through the week between all the pies and bread. "Everything hurts," Sheik whines, and he wiggles around on my couch. I kick my foot right out on his rump. "Heeey!"

After enjoying a bit of take-out grub and a glass each of the wine Sheik brought, it doesn't take long for all of us to pass on various surfaces, our feet throbbing. Malon's in the lounge chair, Link on the floor, me on the couch, and for some reason, when we wake up, Sheik is on my kitchen table. And here all this time, I was thinking Link was a strange man. The hell is wrong with my brother? He doesn't even move when Malon plops her plate of bacon, sausage and eggs (a benefit of a neighbor with a coop of cucco in her backyard) on the small of his back. He only snorts a little in his sleep when she begins sawing at the sausage on her plate.

"Pass the salt, please," she says, and Link plops it onto Sheik's upper back.

We're all almost through breakfast when Sheik finally starts to show signs of stirring. I'm finishing off my O.J. when he tries to sit up, noticing for the first time that we're all dining on top of him. "What the hell?" he asks as Malon's plate slides off of him, Link and I having snatched up our own.

"Get off my table, bum."

He groans and rolls off right into Link's lap and the empty chair next to him. "Link, I must say, you look very dashing at this angle. Is that a five o'clock shadow I see? Very rugged."

Looking up, Link says to us, "You know, instead of that second glass of orange juice, I think I'll have a few glasses of that wine."

Link rolls Sheik off of him, and while he saunters over to the kitchen sink, Sheik glances around at our plates. "You had breakfast without me?" he pouts, and I shrug back at him.

Sheik grabs some food on his way out with Malon. I was sort of expecting Link to want to make a trip home, but instead, he puts his cup with the stupid silly straw attached in the sink for a quick wash and cuddles up on the couch in the den. I poke him on the head, and he kind of just flounders a little under the blanket sea. "You realize we're supposed to be meeting everyone downtown in like an hour and a half right?"

"Calm down, Zellie," he yawns. Bones crack as he stretches a little then snuggles back. "There's plenty of time." Oh, there'd be plenty of time if he didn't want to fart around. ALL THE TIME. How does this man- _boy_ even manage to get up on time for work?

Oh. That's right. Me.

"LINK!"

"Whaaat."

"You're going to doze off, and then you're going to make us late," I nag. Farore, have I become his mother?! "Why do you do this to me?"

"You need more wine."

I shout back as I waltz out of the den, "You know, I'm starting to wonder if you're turning me into an alcoholic!"

"The first step is admitting you have a problem!"

I roll my eyes.

Within the next forty-five minutes, I'm- oh! Check this. I've already showered, gotten dressed, dried my hair, washed my plugs and earlobes, brushed and flossed my teeth. I even have my shoes on. (Tied!) My gloves are on, and a scarf is around my neck. All I need is my coat, wallet and to grab my keys, and I can leave. I could have a good parking spot close to the square downtown and still have a few minutes to spare.

And Link's still on the couch.

I push him off. And when he whines about it, I verbally hand him his ass on a platter and send him on his way.

There's a part of me that sometimes wonders if I've become my mother, because when I'm at home, holding in all my resentment, I start cleaning. Like a madwoman. I could handout chemical burns like there's no tomorrow. It's a good thing Link's kiddie cup is made of that crazy, indestructible plastic, otherwise I might have broken it by now with the way I've been scrubbing it. I rinse it out and set it aside on a towel to air dry with its lid so he can take it with him. Then I get to work on loading the dishwasher with breakfast's dirt. When I throw down the door and slide the top rack out to put the glasses on, I pause for a moment. I put the glasses in my hands down on the rack and grab an unfamiliar mug sitting innocently towards the back of the rack.

Turning the mug over in my hands, I see that it's adorned with little cartoon rabbits bouncing all around and has the most terrible "grey hare" pun. Coffee rings stain the inside. I'm pretty sure I didn't buy this. I'm pretty sure nothing has possessed me to suddenly want items with tacky puns plastered over them. Most of my dishes are fairly plain. Is this Link's coffee mug? It must be, I'm sure. Has to be.

Remembering that I'm supposed to be pissed as all hell with him, I throw the mug back in the dishwasher and continue my scrubbing until Link is fucking _finally_ ready to go. Of course as we spend a good twenty minutes just driving around the lots, I'm bitching him out. He mumbles here or there, but I have my suspicions that he's somehow found a way to sleep _and_ make some sort of effort to cajole me. In his sleep. In his _damn_ sleep.

"Ow! Why'd you hit me?"

Because I'm batshit nuts.

Hum. Maybe that's why we have the mark of the Triforce on our hands. I have been sent from far, far away on a mission as a space siren to test Link. If he survives my crazy shenanigans, well… he gets… something. Oh! The Triforce shall grant him his greatest wish if he defeats me in my game of psycho… psycho… Defeats me in mind games. We'll go with that.

I decide if I ever go bankrupt with the bakery, I could be pretty fucking awesome at writing terrible dollar romances. Link just needs longer hair… and to drop that whole homeless/lumberjack combo look he's had going on lately.

"Would it kill you to shave more than once or twice a month?" I blurt as I finally snag a parking spot. Winner!

"Uhhh…"

The wind's icy fingers scratches at our cheeks as soon as we get out of the car, and my phone begins to buzz in my back pocket. I pull it out to see Sheik's name and face plastered on the screen, and I pick it up. Link and I traverse through Kakariko's streets. Dried fruit displays adorn the holes in the old brick buildings around us. Wreaths hang from doors, scented with cedar and cinnamon. Pineapples sit proudly in windows, or instead unlit candles wait to be lighted once nightfall comes. A crowd has already gathered to enjoy the festivities. Music floats through the noise of people chatting. Vendors line the street offering hot beverages and holiday foods.

Sheik babbles in my ear, and I can hear the annoyance in his voice. So I just let his words fly in one ear and out the other and I give the occasional "uh-huh" to act like I really care at this point about how late we are. Not even my fault. Pff.

"Are you okay?" Link asks once I just hang up on my brother.

I shrug. "A little chilly, but fine," I tell him. "Why?"

"You're uh…"

"Out with it, Mason."

He steps a little further from me when he says, "You've been more snippy than usual as of late."

"Well, I'm fine." Aw snaps. I think he's right.

Link must be a godsend to ignore my snaps, and he changes the subject instead. "What's with the pineapples around here?" asks Link as we squeeze through the mass of people who have chosen to just stand right in the middle of the walking path. "I've been meaning to ask you; I've never seen this anywhere else. They've been everywhere lately."

"The pineapple is a symbol of welcoming.

"Have you ever tried spice pudding?" I ask him when my eyes gloss over a stand. "It's kind of a staple dessert around here for the holidays." I can see the gleam in Link's eyes as we pass by the stand, which is answer enough. "Let's find Sheik first, and then you can go get some," I say.

Link cranes his neck to try and look above the crowds. "Yeah, we should."

Instead of Sheik, we find Malon waiting for us. She shrugs her shoulders, her thumbs tapping away on her phone. "He should be back in a couple of minutes," she says, her attention never wavering from her phone.

"Can we get pudding then?"

"Shut up."

Malon snorts. "What I'm surprised is that people are still getting ice cream," she says with a nod over to the nearby parlor. "It's freezing!"

Link wrinkles his nose as he looks at the advertising posters in the window. "I wonder how cake ice cream would go," he mutters.

"What?"

His shoulders pop as he thinks it over. "I mean, there's ice cream cake, but it's not really cake," he tells me. "So why not cake ice cream?"

Malon pipes up, "There's that birthday cake flavor."

"And there's no universal ice cream fla-"

Wait.

"Zelda?"

Holy shit, Link just might be a freaking genius.

The wheels begin to turn in my mind as I stare at the same advertisements in the shop's windows. A cake that's not a cake. So an ice cream that's not an ice cream.

"I'll wait for Sheik," I say.

"Did you want-"

"No."

I plop down on a bench as Link and Malon float off into the crowd and begin cooking it all up in my mind. I'm going to have to try this out. It has to work. It just has to. I continue to mull, blankly staring as people flit past. I could probably start it today if I really wanted to. Well, probably not. I don't think Sheik would let me; Link I _know_ I could get to squirm. Would I have the time though? Would it even be good? What flavors would work? Should it be creamy, heavy? My whirrs and whirrs as I think over all the new possibilities that seem to have just opened up to me. An ice cream that's not an ice cream. A cake that's not a cake. How would they bake? Would it be too moist? Or too dry? An ice cream that's not an ice cream.

It barely even registers in my mind when Sheik sits down next to me. He cranes his head one way and then the other, looking for Link and Malon. He finally nudges my side and asks where they went.

"Don't know."

He groans a little and tells me to relax. "Come on, it's a holiday," he says. "You can let go of all that pent up rage and stress you've been holding in." No, no. I don't think I can actually. I think I might get eaten alive otherwise.

"Hey, Sheik," I say. He pops the gum in his mouth. "You said something before about it. On All Hallows' Eve, I think."

"'Bout what?"

"What do you think of Link?"

Sheik says smugly, "We're legit bros." His hands on his hips. It's so incredibly impressive and leaves me seething on the inside, I'm just so terribly jelly. He doesn't even blink when I elbow him in the side. "I'd race Segways with him."

I scoff at him as he scans the crowds. "That's not what I'm talking about," I snap back. "It was something about him putting up a front?"

"A front of awesomeness?"

"Sheik-"

"No, but seriously," Sheik says, and for a second before he dashes my hopes, I actually think he's serious. "Tell him if he's down, I'd race him on Segways down the strip.

"Oh! I think I see Groose. I haven't talked to him a while," he says in haste. He calls back to me as he's already pushing through the throng of people, "I'll find you guys!"

"What. The. Fuck."

"What's wrong?" I whip around to see Link chowing down on pudding.

I bite, "Nothing. What happened to Malon?" Link ignores my question and frowns a little at my sharp tone before he pokes the corner of my mouth his spoon. "I don't want any!" I slap at him with both hands. Pansy style! Take that!

"It's good," he says with a little waggle in voice as I wipe my mouth.

"NO."

"You're being a sour sailor."

"Am not." I totally am.

Link says nothing else on the matter and chews on the spoon in his mouth as we watch the dancers in the crowd. It's sort of bugged me ever since Sheik mentioned it a couple months back. What on earth has Link done or seen that would make him want to hide? Apart from, you know the weird-o stuff surrounding us. Every now and again in the silence, I take a quick glance at him, but nothing in his face ever betrays him. What's the point in playing the fool, Link? I don't get it. I really don't.

After a few minutes, he finally turns to me and says, "Hey Zellie."

"Hm."

"Zellie."

"_What_?"

"I have a question."

"Yes, love."

"Is anybody ever really ready for this jelly?"

Nevermind. He's a fucking idiot.

"Hey! I see that smile!"

"You are so _stupid_!"

Link just laughs, his howls a harmonizing tone to the carolers' singing.

**…**

Sheik wails, "You didn't tell me?" as he pulls Link and I into his bone-crushing embrace the second we walk through the front door.

Taken aback, Link goes "What?" while I murmur to myself, "I need to change the damn lock…" We try to wiggle ourselves out of Sheiks' arms, but he has us pinned firmly to him.

"Din, Zelda! I can't believe you'd leave me out."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say flatly into Sheik's armpit. "Is this about your gift for Din's Ignis? Like, I still have the receipt if it really sucks that bad."

"You never told me you got your first boyfriend! I kind of feel out of the loop," he pouts.

"I've had like two boyfriends before."

"Wait. What?"

"Are you talking about Link?"

"Why didn't I know this?"

"I wasn't aware you were interested in knowing."

Sheik's brow crinkles as he thinks it over. Then he cracks a smile and looks over at poor, stunned Link. "Link, man," Sheik exclaims and claps Link's shoulder, "third time's the charm! I think you got lucky."

"Can you let us go?" I interject. I think poor Link is being suffocated over there. If anything, he's pretty stiff all mashed up against Sheik.

"Although this kind of puts me in an awkward spot…" Sheik trails as he completely disregards me.

I about choke on my laughter. "How in the world is this awkward for _you_?" I demand, still crushed to my brother's armpit.

"Well, I mean, you _are_ technically my sister, and I should look out for you, but Link and I are bros."

Dumbly, Link goes, "We are?"

Sheik turns back to Link. "Look Link, if it ever goes sour, I'm here for you, man."

Link replies with a hesitant "Thank you?"

"What! You just said you should have your sister's back!"

"Well, bros before hos."

"OH GODS. JUST LET US GO."

Sheik whines, "But we're _bonding_!"

"To your deodorant, maybe!" I bite back.

* * *

><p>Just for you, Miss Ashlynn, I snuck a bit in there.<p>

Doing better. I guess. Well, I was sleeping something at the very least twelve to fifteen hours a day. It was ridiculous. I had gotten to the point where I was basically sleeping, get up for work, come home, eat a little, shower and then go back to bed. I'm still sleeping like ten hours and then wanting a nap later on in the day, but it's been getting better slowly. I wasn't able to eat without pain or nausea, and that's gone away with this latest run medication. I'm not dead to the world, and therapy's been going alright. I hoping it all doesn't go back to the way it was in the fall. Ugh.

And my brother has been doing great as well! I can't remember if I mentioned this in the note I posted originally, but my brother was diagnosed with cancer two months ago, and had surgery right before Christmas to try and remove it.

Shitty end and start to the year, but things seem to be looking up. I hope. It's really, really late, but happy Hogmanay, guys!

c;


	14. The Pie and the Cone are a Lie

Zombie Cake

14.0

The Pie and the Cone are a Lie

When my phone begins to buzz for the fourth time, I stop my scrubbing and throw down the towel in my hand before going to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Zellie, where are you?" He sounds half-baked and an absolute mess.

"I'm at the bakery."

"Whaaat?"

"You should come down," I say to Link, picking up the towel again and attacking the smeared buttercream on the counter. "I made something new. It's in the oven right now. It should be done in about five minutes; I'll have to check on it."

I can hear the suspicion in his voice. "What'd you make?"

"Trust me, you'll like it," I say.

"We were supposed to meet Sheik."

"Yeah, fuck him," I tell Link, peering into the oven. "Come try this with me."

"Um… okay. I guess. Won't your brother be mad though?"

"Fuck him." And I hang up the phone.

I dig out some tooth picks and a paring knife. There's something I'm mis- sprinkles. Link loves his stupid sprinkles. I throw the sprinkles onto the counter next to the buttercream and take out a toothpick from the box. Peeking into the oven again, I see that the little cakes look somewhat golden. I shrug, and I open up the oven. I carefully pull one tray out and stab at the cakes. A couple of them leave little bits behind on the toothpick. I set the tray back and grab the paring knife and stick that in as well and it comes out clean. "Eh," I say. "What's two more minutes?" And I put the tray back in and close the oven up.

I wander off to the front window and peek out. The whole strip is deserted. Everyone else is out enjoying the festivities of the holiday, and I'm here. Working. Sheik is going to be so mad at me. Link, at the very least, is easily swayed by promises of sweets. Despite the day, it's somewhat gloomy out. Snow covers the strip, but the only foot prints in the fresh snowfall are from me. The fat flakes still fall in a lazy daze as I look out the window, leaning my forehead against the icy glass. The dark sky swirls above the strip, churning out more and more flakes of pearly white snow.

I wonder if Link's going to attempt to drive that damn old bus of his through it. Probably not. He prefers walking if he can. The snow will probably distract him.

I grumble a little to myself when the oven's timer finally goes off, and I shuffle off to retrieve my creation. I pull the two trays out and set them down to cool, absently flapping my oven mitt to stir a draft on them as I wait for Link to get here. Silently, I pray to myself that these have turned out okay. When they've finally cooled, I set the trays down on the counter and get to work on frosting my cakes with buttercream and tossing the sprinkles on liberally. Sprinkles. Lots of them.

Eventually, Link appears in the front window. Huddled into his coat, his bangs have already gone wild in the wind and snow under his green cap. I let him, and he shakes himself off of the snow. "So what'd you make?" he pesters me and sets his coat on one of the bistro chairs.

"Remember how you were talking about the ice cream cakes not actually being a cake the other day?"

"Yeah," he yawns.

"I made ice cream that's not ice cream," I tell him.

His brow knits together. "What?"

"Ice cream that's not ice cream," I repeat. His eyes dart around a little as he tries to figure out what I'm saying. "I haven't tried one yet, but if this is any good, you're a fucking genius, Link."

"You came up with it."

"You gave me the idea."

"Idea?" he says, somewhat scandalized as I lead him into the back area. "Lady, just admit I am your muse."

"Bring me marble, I must sculpt your image."

"I'd prefer it to be in chocolate mousse."

I pull one of the trays over, the cakes wobbling precariously in the cupcake tins they stand in. "How am I supposed to sculpt mousse?" I ask him as I hand him one.

"I'm not an engineer," he says, taking the cake and giving it a look over. The buttercream shines under the light, splattered with sprinkles.

"Look," I say, "I even got it covered in sprinkles."

He grins at me. "I like it," he tells me, rolling the ice cream cake cone over in his fingers. An ice cream that's not an ice cream. He chomps down right into the cone, and chews on it thoughtfully for a moment before his mouth pulls in a restrained smirk. I chortle and try one myself, biting into the cone and when I pull away the hidden cake covered by the ice cream cone and icing shows itself. "Cake cones!" Link exclaims, already halfway through his. Icing clings to his face and stubble.

"Link, you are a frocking genius."

"How'd you make these?"

I shrug. "Easy," I say. "I just poured the cake batter straight into the cones, and then baked it for about thirty minutes."

He pops the last bit of cake and ice cream cone in his mouth. "Do you think you could get icing to go down the center? I kind of want more than just what's on the top," he says.

"Don't see why not.

"What if we made our own waffle cones and did this?" I ask.

Already starting on a second, Link says, with bits of cake crumbling, "That'd be awesome." He swallows and then laughs a little. "How would you stand them up to bake them?"

"I don't have the plan all worked out yet, dumdum."

"Think we could make something else like this?"

I say, "Ice cream cake is already taken."

"What about pie?" Link says.

"Cake pie. Pie cake?"

"Hell yes!"

I dig into my pocket for my wallet and hand Link a few rupees. "Here," I tell him. "Take this and run down to Malo's and get some pie filling and one of those dough crusts. I'll get some batter ready."

After bundling himself back up to face the weather, Link scurries off back out into the snow and cold. He throws a quick wave through the front window at me and disappears down the strip. Working as fast as I can, I throw together the cake batter, tossing in the butter and sugar into the mixer. Once the batter is finished, I snag two pie pans and pour in the cake about halfway. By the time Link returns, his cheeks and ears a bright red all over again, he has some cherry pie filling and some pie crust dough. I nod over to the oven, telling him, "I already got the cake in there." The cake is in and my phone has buzzed periodically as well.

Peering into the oven, he asks, "Are you going to bake it all the way?"

"Nah," I say grabbing the cold dough from the bag Link brought in with him. "Going to try it at about half the usual time, just so it's firm."

"But a little squishy."

"Right," I say, scrolling through the missed calls. Sheik. Sheik. Sheik. Malon. Malon. Sheik. Link. I drop my phone back onto the counter.

"Let's get this stuff cut into strips."

Link grabs the cakes when the oven timer goes off, and we break open the pie filling and spread it across the cakes' surfaces. Throwing on the strips of dough, Link and I get a lattice top. "Take that last bit and put it around the edge," I say, grabbing some of the remaining dough to wrap around.

Link stays fairly glued to the oven's vicinity where it's warm once the cakes go back in the oven, while I venture back over to the window, the cold air seeping through the glass. I hear my phone begin to buzz again on the counter where I left it. "You want to get that?"

"No," I say with a yawn.

When the cakes come out, Link and I set them down on the metal baker's table to examine. "They _look_ like pies," Link comments, sticking a knife down the center of each and wrinkling his nose. The knife comes back clean both times of cake, but the cherry filling clings to the small paring knife. "And they're at least baked through."

"Let's just hope that they're not over- GOOD GODDESSES! How many times does he have to call?!"

"Maybe you should have picked up the first time…" Link shrinks back a little when I shoot him a glare as I pick up my buzzing phone, but I can see how he's fighting the growing grin.

"Link and I are at the bakery. You should come try this." And before my dear ol' brother can get a word in, I hang up on him. A wide yawn escapes Link as we sit down up front and flick the television on, waiting for our creations to cool off.

It doesn't take long before a tune blares out from Link's back pocket, and he looks over at me. "Is that me?"

"I changed your ringtone yesterday."

"To the theme song for _Parellas_?"

"I thought you liked that cartoon," I say as my attention gets sucked into the history program on the TV.

The next thing I know, Sheik comes blaring through the ear piece on Link's phone, and Link jumps and pulls the phone away from his ear with a grimace. "LIIIINK! BRO! What is her problem?!"

"Uh. Hi. I unno." Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his nervous glance over at me. "She's been working on some new stuff; we're at the bakery." I hear the faint muffles of Malon's voice, and then the shrill cry of frustration from her. My eyes flicker closed as I slump onto the bistro table. "Sooo. I guess they're coming here. I think."

"Mm."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Is it the holidays?"

"I'm good, Link!"

"Alright! Alright!" he says hastily before changing the subject. "So where did you find this ringtone?"

**…**

There's the slight wetness of drool clinging to the corner of my mouth when Sheik and Malon finally show up at the bakery. They shake from their heads and shoulders the puffy snow like shaggy dogs and start to strip themselves of their winter gear. "Okay, what have you concocted now?" Malon asks me as she and Sheik toss their outerwear on top of mine and Link's. Quickly, I wipe the offending drool from my mouth, much to Link's amusement I'm sure, and lead them to the back.

"Check it!"

Malon's face scrunches a little as she looks down at the pie cakes. "You made cherry pie? Really Zelda?" she says with slight disbelief. The undertone of "You seriously made us come out here for this?" is definitely there.

"Hey! Made those too!" I say pointing over at the cupcake cones as Link slips by me, darting for the office.

Her eyes flick over to the cupcake tins. "You've been hard at work," she says flatly.

However, Sheik snatches up a cone in each hand and holds one out for Malon to take. She looks at it a little skeptically, before taking a bite. "Remember how Link was talking about ice cream cakes?" I ask, and she rolls her eyes.

"Okay, okay. This is pretty cool. You win."

Link shuffles back out with some plates and forks from the office and grabs a knife. "I really hope those aren't fucked up." Link only chortles in response, eager to dig into the latest "concoction".

When Link wiggles the first piece out and plops it on a plate, he holds it out for either Sheik or Malon. They both balk, and Sheik looks at the piece with what looks to be a mixture of confusion, disgust and curiosity. "What."

"Pie cake!"

"You made _what_?" he sputters, and Malon takes the plate.

"WE MADE AWESOME!"

"You made desserts of deception," Malon corrects as she laughs, stabbing her fork into the treat. "It ain't half bad."

**…**

We follow Sheik and Malon downtown for the third day of festivities. I about groan when Link asks if we can get more spice pudding. Farore, what kind of stomach did you give this boy?

Bonfires burn in the middle of the streets, offering warmth to their visitors through the cold and snow. Malon scours a list of events offered through the day with Sheik, but I really couldn't be more uninterested. I look over at Link standing next to me, and he is, of course, lost with all the people and probably looking for pudding. With a twitch of his ears when he spies something, Link shouts out, "HEY!"

I turn my head, but I don't see anything. "What are you doing?"

"Come on!" he says and grabs my arm. I throw my hands up as Malon gives me a cross look over her pamphlet. Link pulls me through the crowd, and then I see Knil plopping himself down on a bench close to one of the bonfires. "I thought you didn't want to come?" Link calls to his roommate as we approach.

He glosses over, the bored expression never leaving his face. "Yeah, changed my mind." His eyes flicker over to me. "How's it hanging, Zelda?"

"S'alright." I shrug and then say, "We're going to be doing whatever with my brother and friend if you want to tag along with us."

Knil's face tightens a little. "Nah, that's okay. I'm probably going to leave in a little bit."

"Oh, okay. I guess we'll see you later then."

He gives a half-hearted wave and shakes his dark hair from his eyes. "Right-o!"

When I move to pull Link back over to Malon and Sheik, he instead drags me off. I sigh wearily. The quest for spice pudding has begun. Whoop.

Hours later with aching feet and cold faces, Link and I finally tromp through to the warmth of my house. The snow's picked up again in fat, wet flakes, and I'm just relieved to finally get some reprieve from the damn weather.

"So I was talking to Mido the other day, and he was saying-"

"Link."

"Huh?"

"Is everything cool with Knil? I know he's kind of a loner, but it's been like he's avoiding you like the plague lately."

Link's eyes roll upwards as he thinks over my comment. "Has he?" he wonders aloud, and I roll my eyes. It started around Harvest Moon, I think, when he refused to join in for our makeshift dinner. When I press it, Link just pushes it aside. "Nah, everything's fine."

"Is it me?" The question just tumbles out of my mouth, and for a second, I can't even believe I said it.

"Of course not."

Yeah, alright whatever.

After we've thrown off all of our outerwear, I smack Link's arm. "Take your pants off, and I'll- don't give me that look! I'm just going to throw them in the wash, doofus."

"What? They're fine."

"Link, you're soaked up to your shins." Grumbling, he relents and surrenders his soaking pants and socks before crawling into a blanket fortress on my couch.

I throw our jeans and socks into the wash and slam the lid shut. Water gushes into the basin, and I pull myself up on top of the machine. My hands free from their glove constraints, I take a look at the faint mark on the back of my hand. The curiosity and burning desire in me to figure out what exactly this thing is still eats at me, but I feel like Link and I are whistling in the dark. Are we just not supposed to know yet?

I stay sitting on the washer, lost in my own thoughts until it starts rock and shake as it swirls the water and soap around with the clothing. Noise from the television meets my ears as I slide off the washer and pad into the kitchen. Link's still huddled in the blanket watching some late cartoons. It's weird almost. Here we have this strange mark appear on both of our hands, but everything just seems so _normal_. So monotonous and a little dull even. Follow the usual routine of sleep, work, kick back and repeat.

"Hey Link," I call and wander into the den.

"What's up?"

"When you were a kid, what'd you think you were going to be doing now?"

He doesn't answer right away, instead he mulls it over as I sit down next to him. The cartoons cast an ethereal, flickering glow in the dark room, and his face glows blue then white then orange and then back to the blue. "I think I would have to call it an adventurer of sorts." A small, self-satisfied smile stretches his mouth slightly. Blue eyes turn and blink at me.

"An adventurer?"

"Wanderer. Backpacker. Hitchhiker. Loiterer. Un-employed louse. Take your pick."

I snort, the laughter biting at the back of my throat. "How glamorous."

"I just wanted to go out and see everything in the world. Maybe go overseas to the Republic or even just a trip out to Calatia and try the food." And there it was. Link's undeniable urge to be on the move. I stretch out my legs and rock my bare feet back and forth. Where was my sense of adventure? Maybe I just lost it in the whirlwind of my wild teen years; I got my fill and just wanted to spend lazy days in a hammock on the beach or something stupid. I mean, I know I just kind of threw my life in the capital out the window one day, but other than that… I wrinkle my nose. Didn't I come here to escape what I'm doing _right now_? How fucking depressing.

For some reason, my little droopy plant from the office cubicle I inhabited comes to mind. Leathery leaves tinged brown all around the edges, a sad excuse for an oxygen provider because the poor thing hardly got any real sunlight. I'm surprised I didn't kill the damn thing in a couple of weeks now that I think of it. What a trooper.

The stupid grey desk still haunts me in the back of my mind. And the rolling chair I spent a good chunk of my time just swiveling around in circles, making myself dizzy. There was the light grey of the cubicle walls. Mine were conspicuously blank, but some of my co-workers would tack up the scribble drawings of their pride and joy or family photos or a tacky calendar plastered with cat photos. Maybe they'd add a clock that would tick tick tick and you'd be sitting on the other side just waiting for that damn AA battery to die. Why don't they make clocks that run on those crazy 9-volt batteries? Nobody, _nobody_ ever has that shit on hand. Or maybe even just AAA. That stuff is always never around when you need it too.

The biggest adventure I would have at the office would be trying to solve the mystery of who walked off with my stapler again. Well… okay, there were a few rumors - or maybe theories is a better word – going around about what people actually did in the bathroom. You could walk in there and see a certain person's shoes and they'd be in there twenty minutes… half hour. What were they doing? Playing Gameboy games on their cellphones? Watching porn? Then there'd be the people who would float off to the bathroom like three times an hour. Maybe they're a drug addict or something. Maybe they had an overactive bladder or chronic diarrhea. Or maybe everybody was just bored and wanted to skimp on their work. The great mystery of the bathroom. Maybe if the IT guys didn't follow the employee browsing history so strictly, you'd be able to find more people actually at their desks.

Yeah. Left all that for what? Wake up and bake the same stuff five days a week? What was I thinking? Suddenly, Link's want and need to go out and bum the world seems more appealing. Just look at what the kid did. He up and left his hometown, begged strangers for gas money and hopped around for odd jobs, paid a debt back to a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. I wiggle my toes. What if I wasn't so much like my mother and just went crazy at work one day? What if I went to the time clock to clock out one day, and something inside of me just snapped, and I got in my car and drove and drove and drove. And never came back. There's a little inkling of freedom in that that kind of tugs at my chest. What if I did what Link did and bummed around for a while and maybe did a few things I'd regret, like watch a whole season of Hylian Idol?

I turn to Link. "Do you ever still feel like just going somewhere?"

He licks his lips. "All the time," he whispers. "All the time." When I open my mouth to respond to that, I snap it shut. There's a far off look in Link's eye, like he's actually gone the distance and is eating all the weird and bizarre cuisine the world has to offer.

And then comes the twinge.

Well, _that's_ unusual. It lasts for what seems forever, but seeing as the commercial break is still going, maybe and maybe not. But it's gnawing at me. It chews away at the easy sense of security that the normalcy I've fallen into again has provided. It even bubbles a little. It's not a feel-good wishy-washy bubbling, but a simmering one like a pot of boiling water. Maybe I just don't actually like change.

But what could change?

"Do you still have that book?"

"Yeah, but I left it at the house… Sorry."

"It's okay," I say, sinking into my seat on the sofa. The mark sort of glistens in the light of the television. Maybe this little guy is my ticket out.

**…**

I can hear the clucking of Anju's cucco. Peering out the kitchen window, it turns out that her little escape artists have done it again and are strutting their stuff around my backyard. The cucco bob their heads as they slowly make their way across my yard. There's three of them out and about for an adventure of their own today in the morning sun. They each step carefully in the green, green grass as if with each step might set off a landmine or something.

I sip my coffee.

Shouldn't I be at work? No. No today's a Monday. Derp. It's a Monday morning, and as if to mock me that I'm up early on my one day off, it has to be nice out.

I set the mug down on the island and walk to the laundry room. Despite my socked feet, I will _not_ slide across my floor like a damned idiot. Watching Link smack the floor with his ass more than once just sort of proves the point.

Grumbling, I take the clothes out of the dryer, and then toss the load that was in the washer into the dryer. Rinse and repeat? I think so. I smack the door shut and turn the dryer on to shrink my clothes and steal away my socks into another dimension.

"What to do, what to do, what to do," I mutter to myself in the quiet house. The dryer still hums through the house. "What to do, what to do, what to do."

I could waste the day looking at stupid pictures and videos on the internet. I could read a book for the day. I could catch up on some soap operas, although I'll never understand their kind of drama. I could nap the day away… well, that's probably not a good idea. I won't ever get any sleep later on.

I sigh.

Eventually, I find myself poking out of my house, and then wandering down the drive to the mailbox. Let's see what I've got today. There's a letter stating I'm pre-approved for a thirty thousand rupee car loan that I'd probably get terribly behind on. I'm pre-approved for yet another fucking credit card too. I keep wading through the junk as I walk up the drive until a worn card steals the show. There's a beach on it with the brightest sand and the bluest, clearest waters I've ever seen. Trees hang low over the beach with long palms stretching out towards the sand and sea. Green bushes hide the dirt path leading down to the island's beach, and a seagull swoops from overhead. Flipping the card over, I see that it was sent from Outset Island. My message in a bottle? Link's lame excuse for handwriting is scribbled over the postcard's back, and I make a point to try and decipher it later.

Back in the house, I enter the den and toss the mail on the coffee table. Link's postcard slides out from the mess of junk mail, and I fling myself onto the couch to soak in a little sun. I glance at the back of my hand, and I am content to see that nothing adorns it. I close my eyes and fold my hands over my stomach, just enjoying the heat the sun brings into the room.

Then tremors begin to start. At first it's only a slight shake, and then the next thing I know the whole house is shaking. Dishes in the kitchen clatter against one another as my eyes fly open, and the den and couch wobble. I sit up, gripping the back of the couch, feeling as though the house itself jumped a couple of feet into the air. The earthquake rumbles the house again, and I screw my eyes shut as I'm jolted again.

When I open them the room is dark. The television still lights the den as infomercials try and sell me on another food processor. Link snorts and sniffs a little in his sleep underneath me, wiggling a little trying to get comfortable under my weight. "Dear Din, _you're_ the earthquake?" I mutter to his sleeping form. I slide off of the couch and rub my eyes.

Finally I stand up and stretch out my bones. I throw the blanket back over Link, still thinking about the dream, and shut the television off before wandering off to bed. "Damn, even in my dreams I'm boring," I mumble as I slide between sheets of ice. I shiver a little, hoping that the bed will warm up soon. Of course, just as I get comfortable, I remember the laundry.

Cursing under my breath, I float through the house back to the mud room. Grabbing the empty laundry basket on top of the dryer, I let it fall to the floor and open up the dryer. Scooping out clothes, I lose some on the floor. Huh. Maybe that's how socks actually disappear. Bright colors fall in a mismashed jumble in the basket, and I stoop to pick up the runaway clothing from the floor. Throwing a few of my socks and a sweater into the basket, I pick up a shirt last and throw it on top before tossing in the wet clothes to dry. Yawning, I bend down when the shirt makes me take a second look. I pluck it from the pile and look at it. It's too large to be mine.

Something just clicks in my mind right then.

"Are you fucking serious?" I ask no one in particular and letting the shirt fall from my hands. "Really?!"

…

It's the fourth morning of the Grand Illumination. The snow from yesterday stopped at some point in the night, and the outside is covered in a blanket of stark white. I rub my eye and pull on some boots before leaving the house and Link, still dead to the world on the couch. The brisk air meets me the second I open the door, and I make my way carefully down the icy steps. The snow crunches under my boots, and despite my coat, I still feel a little chilled. I breathe in the scent of winter, suddenly feeling better. A walk was definitely in order.

The early morning isn't picture peaceful when a loud squawk streaks the street. I hear Anju yelp and then holler some choice curses as I pass by her house. Stopping for a moment, I groan a little when hear her wail a little. "Damn cucco," I mutter and make my way around her house. Seeing one of the cucco taking off at full speed across the yard, I climb over the fence calling out to Anju, but she either doesn't hear or chooses not to respond as she chases after her rouge bird. It darts one way and then the next before coming right at me as I walk further into the yard. With one quick swipe, I miraculously get the writhing thing in my hands.

Panting, Anju leans over on her knees. "Thanks," she wheezes, and we throw the fussing bird back into the coop. It struts around clucking at us as if to say it'll get Anju another day, which I'm sure it will, when Anju says, "You look horrible. Long night?"

"I guess," I say. "I woke up from a dream, and then I don't really feel like I got any good sleep after that."

"Was it bad?" she asks as I follow her across the yard.

I shrug. "Yes and no. It was pretty uneventful save for the earthquake."

"An _earthquake_?" she repeats. "That would make a dream for me."

"Eh, it was just Link trying to catapult me off of him in his sleep. Other than that, it was like a regular old day. Maybe in the spring or summer. I watched your cucco hop the border, drank some coffee, got the mail and lied down. Then the quake happened, but…"

Anju nods thoughtfully. "Want some tea or coffee?"

I'm about to refuse, when I think better of it. "I should probably take some coffee, thanks."

Once inside the comfort of Anju's kitchen, I shake off my coat, but leave the rest of my winter gear on. "How's your holiday been so far?" she asks me, trying to make light conversation.

"It's been pretty good, I guess."

"You don't sound too enthused."

"I dunno. I've been feeling a bit off lately, and I guess I sort of had an epiphany or whatever last night."

"Think that has anything to do with your dream?"

"Probably. I'm kind of starting to think that maybe I've resigned myself to monotony again," I confess to Anju as she drops something on the floor, an audible "Oops!" sounding. "Like, Link was telling me he wanted to just wander around the world when he was a kid, and I guess he kind of did that. He got out of Ordon, at least, and bummed around. He still thinks about it."

Water bubbles. "Hm. I suppose that would sort of explain it."

"Yeah," I half-laugh. "Link sent me a postcard from Outset Island."

"So he gets away, and you're still stuck here?"

"Looks like it. The weird thing was that I don't think I really cared."

"That he was gone, or you were still here or both?"

"I think a little of both, but maybe mostly that he'd left." I shrug again and look out the window. "The weird thing though, I don't think I'd know what to do if he'd left now. I got a little scared when he mentioned that he still thinks about going off on whatever bum adventure he partially concocts." When Anju brings me a mug of the dark liquid, I mutter, "Maybe I am going batshit."

"We're all a little crazy, Zelda."

A silence hangs over us, quiet and content. Occasionally, squawking from the yard breaks the fermata of silence. Even when both of our cups are drained, Anju and I still sit, watching as the trees that line the back end of the yard sway a little in the morning breeze. Sunlight makes the snow glitter where it still sits untouched by our tracks.

"Did I tell you that I'm finding shit that's not mine in my house?"

"Usually people take things, not leave them," Anju giggles at my sudden outburst.

"I'm starting to wonder if this is strategic. Like it starts with a phone charger, a toothbrush, maybe a few snacks," I begin to list as Anju starts to shake. "Actually! Just the other day there was a mug! And last night a fucking shirt? What else am I going to find?"

Giggling like mad, Anju tells me, "I don't think I can help you with _that_."

* * *

><p>I had surgery on my throat a few weeks ago; I was actually kind of looking forward to it, because I was like "Yeah! No work or class for a few weeks." I was thinking of knocking out Wind Waker and Twilight Princess, get some writing done and maybe catch up on some reading... hell naw! My mother came down and stayed with me for like the first week, and it was perpetual HGTV and percocet. Then after she left, I spent a week playing Pokemon. Like I caught, bred and raised about 100 new Pokemon for my Pokedex and level grinded almost a whole new main team to at least level 80. Soul Silver. I'MA COMING FOR YOU NEXT, RED!<p>

Anyway, in the past couple of months, I've been coming up with some ideas for future projects after this story and _Coin-Op_ and writing out little bits. The first one being about Link, an apathetic office drone with a soft spoken, perky supervisor, Zelda. When a string of murders with religious connotations start up, Link and the devout Zelda get dragged into the mix when his sister becomes a victim and his lack of faith in a higher power is tested. The second premise that I really liked was more of the memory of a summer in a sort of post-war/1950's styling America, where Zelda lives in Hyrulean suburbia as a kid, has elaborate heroic fantasies with Link as they discover their true origins. Really, it was sounding to me like a story less action-y and even more about the relationships between people than _Zombie_. The last one is a switcharoo, more a true Zelda setting, where Link and Zelda end up flip-flopping their lives when they exchange shoes due to their wants for a change in lifestyles. Wear good shoes, and they'll take you to good places. Any of that sound remotely interesting? The last two are still kind of in the baby stages though in terms of plot ideas.

Also, I was thinking of at the end of the story, maybe post an extra chapter with some of the recipes mentioned in the story, if you guys ever wanted to get your food on.

Alright, I'm out! I have a meeting with Red on his Mayan pyramid of Golbats. IT. IS. ON!

=:O

Edit: I just heard the news that Shannon Larratt has passed away. He was a huge inspiration, and I can't think of where the body mod community would be without him. I'm pretty speechless.


	15. Chemistry and the New Age

Zombie Cake

15.0

Chemistry and the New Age

With spring comes the ever growing frustration and the rising heat. Link seems more and more lost to the world in daydreams with each passing week, and I've started to feel the seeds of doubt in my heart and mind. Malon is back at the ranch by this point, of course, and the aching loss of having my friend nearby irks me. Insects buzz in the trees and grass, and even the great mountain is showing signs of change. It looks hotter – drier - than it did in the winter. Down at the base of the mountain where our little town sits, grass underfoot has turned plush and alive with color, and the cucco next door cluck and squawk happily with the warmer season.

Anju sits on her porch fanning herself a little in the early evening heat as I pull up in the drive. I wave at her, and she returns the gesture. "Are you and Kafei off tomorrow?" I call out. "Sheik and I are grabbing a bite to eat." Just like we do every Sunday. Every. Damn. Sunday. She shakes her head though and thanks me for the offer, and I simply turn and trudge into the house.

I kick off my shoes and pad into the kitchen for some leftovers. Link's kiddie cups have slowly been reproducing in my cabinet, but even I have to admit that sometimes the attached straw ones are pretty awesome. I pluck one out of the cabinet and fill it with some water before heating up the dinner from a couple days ago. Remembering the laundry sitting in the washer, I leave the food to continue to cook to toss it all in the dryer. Shirts and socks and somehow a pair of boxers that don't belong to me get thrown into the dryer as the microwave beeps for me from the kitchen.

Somehow, I'm not even surprised. Or mad. At least not anymore.

Maybe I _am_ boring.

Sunday comes along with nothing of real interest. Link botches a few things in the bakery during his spacey episodes, but with minimal injury at least. (That Pyrex measuring cup will never be same though.) Sheik and I get dinner, swap anecdotes and complain about the general degradation of society for a while. "Oh Din, do you hear how these kids egging on that security guard?" he says with disgust as we watch a video on his phone right before the guard ends up tasering the kids' mother. He looks more haggard these days, and whenever I try to bring it up, he quickly changes the subject. I just let it go, knowing it's about Vaati, but there's a sinking in my chest when I look at the growing rings under his eyes. Sheik's a big boy, I don't need to come white knighting to the rescue. I just hope whatever it is he's in with Vaati, it doesn't go so deep that Sheik can't get out.

Later on, I tromp through my house, determined to finish the laundry. I'm about to try and separate the clothes when I open my dresser drawer only to realize that there are more articles in there that don't belong to me. When I dial his number however, it rings and rings until finally I'm put through to voicemail. Knowing how bad he is about picking up the phone, I dial again and again. I give up after the fifth unanswered call, which is highly unusual, and when the recording starts, I shout into the phone, "WHAT AM I? Your mother?!

"Link, I don't know what the fuck you're doing, but _I_ just washed your damn underwear. Come pick them up!" I hiss.

And there's not a word from him, but I don't find it all that unusual.

When I wake the next the next day though, suddenly something feels different. The light trying to shine through my room is from the same rising sun, same intensity. The cucco are happily chattering away in the yard next door to the growing light. I don't think it has to do with how my bed feels extra toasty today. I rub my eyes, and I check the clock. Just after sunrise.

My bones and joints crack as I stretch, and I scratch my head. Something feels different.

When I step into the shower there's that initial shock of cold water until it settles into a nice steamy warmth. The shampoo smells the same. It can't be my nose, but I can't shake the idea – the feeling – that something is different about today. Looking at myself in the mirror, I peel my eyelids back, and of course there's nothing unusual. I'm not getting glaucoma or anything.

My stomach lets out a low growl. Something feels different. Maybe it's just my tongue, but then the oatmeal tastes the same. The toast is just as crunchy when I set the toaster to level four dark. The butter is of the same consistency.

So my nose is fine, my sight is fine and my taste buds have yet to think prune juice tastes awesome. If I'm hearing cucco from next door, I'm certain that I'm not going deaf. I can still feel the coldness of the stone counter under my fingers, the curvy plastic of Link's cup in my hand. My senses are all here and in well working order, so what's different?

I look to my left, and then I look to my right. Everything seems like they're in their place, they're sitting where they belong. There's no masked psycho hiding behind my couch with a knife, no rodent on crumb patrol looking for the smallest food particle to gobble up. I'm alone in my house.

Is _that_ what's wrong?

The memory of standing in my bathroom and lamenting my two sinks surfaces for some strange reason. "That's just stupid," I spit as I push the image from my mind. "I can't be that fucking dependent." Or lonely.

Weekday morning cartoons aren't quite the same though. That's not what's off about today though. I scratch my head as bright colors fill the television screen. I take a good look at the back of my hand, the mark still firmly there. I sigh and let the appendage drop. As much as I hate to admit it, these Monday morning cartoons _are_ lonely. Frowning slightly, I lay back on the couch as _The Parellas_ cut to a commercial. I suppose I could play some video games. Link's consoles are here and very conspicuously hidden. He sucks. Getting his stuff out from the "hiding" spot requires me getting up, so I throw that idea out.

I end up clawing for my cell phone that sits on the coffee table. The tone drones in my ear, and I'm sent to voicemail. I try a few more times before I give up. The phone sits on my stomach as I stare blankly at the television screen until I pick it up again.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Oh hey, honey! How've you been?"

"Mm."

"The bakery?"

"Mm."

"And how's uh… hm."

"Link."

"Right! Yes…"

My father sniffs on the other end of the line as I slip over the edge of the couch, my feet resting on the back of the couch as I sit upside down. I don't say anything, but just sit there. For some reason, just simply knowing my father is on the other end is comforting enough.

Finally, my father comes through. "So what's been going on?"

"I'm watching cartoons."

"I liked that one with the kangaroo. Is it still on?"

"Dad, they cancelled that show when I was like seven. And it was a wallaby."

"Oh, that's a shame."

"I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake."

"About what?"

"Coming out here."

There's that characteristic stutter of my dad that sounds like a scratched record when he starts talking before he really knows what he's even thinking. "W-well, you know, you're doing something that you like, and it's going well, right?" If only I could get into the black. "A-and you know, you've got, uh, Sheik there." Who has been keeping secrets. "Your friend Malon lives a little closer now." Who feels a little too far some days still. "And you've got your friend, uh, Link." Who isn't answering my calls.

"Yeah."

"You know, you've always been a bit boyish in your ways," my dad rambles. "I remember when you were about five, your mother got so much flak from the other mothers she knew from church and around the neighborhood for getting you that castle and knight set."

"She got me a pirate ship too."

"Right, right! You never wanted to play with the dolls she got you, but you would take that ship with you into the bath and attack it with your shark toys."

"I remember, Dad," I sigh. I'm sort of regretting calling him if all he wants to do is wander down memory lane.

"I'm just… I'm just saying that it's more _you_ to want to get out and do something different," he tells me. "I always kind of worried about you, with the way you'd wander off when you were little. Couldn't turn our backs on you for even a second or you'd run."

"Should have put me on a leash then."

He laughs, but drops the subject. "So, when are you coming out here?"

My dad and I talk for a while longer before he tells me he has to go. I try Link again, but he doesn't pick up, and I start considering just raiding his house. If he's not there though, then no one is.

Link's roommate is like his polar opposite. An early riser and light sleeper, he keeps to a schedule. Knil is a creature of habit unlike anything I have ever seen, and he's probably been Link's main, if not only, source of structure for the better part of his life. He leaves the house every day at the exact same time for work, comes home right around the same time. Much more reserved, I've wondered if Link's continual need for spontaneity and more open personality grates on him.

I check the time on my phone, and make a note to head over when Knil should be back form work if I don't hear anything from Link. Maybe I'll throw his laundry across the front lawn…

I spend the rest of the day in a sort of waking coma as I wander around the house like a ghost. I end up cleaning nearly every inch of the place, and then I head out for a walk. The cucco are still squawking away happily in Anju's yard as I walk down the street. The spring air has been nice lately, but it's starting to take a turn. Link and Sheik both have been starting to sniffle, and even my own eyes have been feeling itchy and slightly swollen. As I tread down the sidewalk, I can tell from the very thin layer of pollen that's shown up early for the season that we're probably in for a doozy this year, although Link has assured me that Ordon is probably caked in the yellow powder right now.

Eventually I turn around and head back home. I throw Link's laundry into my car and make my way over to his house. When I get there though, his old two-tone bus is gone from the drive, but predictably, Knil's car is there. Throwing the car door open, I take the laundry basket, and kick the door shut before crossing the fresh, green, green, green grass to the house. I take a moment to decide whether or not to take the effort to drop the basket and then pick it back up again before I just slam my shoulder into the doorbell.

I shift from foot to foot as I wait for Knil to answer the door. He's a little surprised when his face finally appears, and then that's when I feel something is up. "Oh hi," he says as he opens up and hold the screen door for me. I slip past him and head towards Link's room, calling back my own greeting. Knil's footsteps echo behind me, and I drop the basket on the floor in Link's room. The place is a mess, as usual. The blankets from his bed are half strewn on the floor and bed. "I thought he was with you."

"What? I've been calling him all day, and I called him a few times last night."

Knil shrugs. "I just figured he was hanging out with you. I haven't seen him since Saturday night."

"He hardly ever drives to work."

"Yeah, I thought that was a little weird," Knil agrees.

I look from Knil, to the bed, to the laundry still at my feet. "Then where the fuck is he?"

Knil shrugs. "Who knows?" he says. "He could be halfway to the Gerudo Desert right now, or he could just be bumming around town."

"You think he'd just pick up and leave?" I don't mean for it, but my words come out much harsher than I intended and sound more like an accusation.

Link's surly roommate frowns at me, and the look in his eye hardens some. "And you're surprised? He's done it several times before, he'll do it again." Knil leaves me standing alone in Link's room.

My stomach does another churn.

Picking up the thrown comforter, I toss it back onto the bed and try to straight it and the sheets out. That's when I spy the little white flash in the bedding. I dig it out and see that it's Link's phone. The battery is damn near depleted, and he has numerous missed calls, but I can tell from the number of calls that I'm not the only one that has been trying to get a hold of him to no avail. "For fuck's sake, Link. What have you been doing?" I mumble to myself as I flip open the phone and start pecking through the call list. The other culprits that I recognize are his little sister Aryll and his friend Mido.

After tearing apart his room a little more to find his phone charger, I plug in the phone and pad across the street over to his spunky neighbor's house. The evening choir has started up its set with the clicking of insects and the buzzing of late spring, and it fills my ears as I wait on the front stoop. When Midna emerges, poking her head out from behind the storm door, I step back. "Oh hey. Long time, no see," she greets as she steps out. It's incredible how much the kid has grown in the last few months. Since the fall, Midna has been sprouting up like a weed, and while she's grateful to no longer be the runt of her class, she's complained about the aches and pain that comes with growth spurts like hers. She's thinned out too, her weight unchanged and distributed over her new height.

"Yeah. How you been? School going well?"

Midna's face contorts in a half scowl. "Eh. I passed all my province exams, so I won't have to take some of my finals, buuut… I'm just ready to get done." I chuckle some, thinking of my own eagerness for the freedom summer offered when I was younger. Now I just dread the season and the onslaught of tourists… maybe I should take on another peon at the bakery.

"Where's your man-child?" asks Midna.

"I don't know," I say. "That's actually what I came over to ask you."

"What do you take me for? His babysitter?"

"How much do you charge?"

The girl scoffs. "He's a special case. You couldn't afford my rates." Her eyes drift over to the ranch across the street where there's nothing but a stain where the old bus usually sits. "Where would he go?" she wonders aloud. "You seriously don't know?"

"I tried calling him, but I just found out that idiot's left his phone here."

Midna frowns at this and crosses her arms. "Is Knil home yet?"

"Already asked."

"Oh." We stand in silence, both of us trying to work out where Link could have possibly wander off too, until Midna tells me, "Sorry I can't help you."

I shrug. "It's okay. I wonder if this is what moms feel like when they lose their kids at the mall."

Midna snorts, and then she turns and heads back into her house.

Well. Fuck.

I suppose I could call Aryll. I probably should call Aryll. Or would that worry the poor girl more? I let out an angry, strangled cry as I fly down the stoop and march back to Link's to call Aryll back. "Oh," she says lightly when I explain the situation. "You know, it's that time of year."

"What?"

"He always goes away around this time of year." That's all she'll tell me though.

When I get ready for bed later on, I fully expect to go into the bakery alone tomorrow. I find that I missed a pair of boxers in my laundry rampage earlier. In an act of petty revenge, I decide that it's probably really great idea to rub my arse all up on Link's shorts and wear them to bed as pajama bottoms. I am the _queen_ of petty revenge.

Considering that I used to be quite the doormat in my younger years, I considered revenge best served stealthily and with great pettiness back in the day. After I graduated high school, Sheik took me and some other chick that I think he was determined to hook up with to a party. She must have considered me some kind of threat or something – he failed to properly introduce me as anything other than "Z" – because this bird acted like a straight up cunt to me all night. I can't say what exactly was said these days, but she'd interrupt me constantly with this tone that said I was a complete idiot. Then she even had the gall to ask me to hold her beer at one point. Probably so she could go grind up on my brother buuut… Instead of being nice and just holding the bottle at the neck, I ran my hands all up on that bottle. Enjoy it lukewarm! Twatwaffle.

At one point in college, when I was still trying to grow that backbone, I was working at a restaurant in the front of house. One of the senior servers got in the habit of pushing some of his duties onto me. I was livid when I caught onto him, but whatever. I just had to tell him to screw off from that point on. Right? Then I saw him swipe part of my tips a couple of times. I wasn't getting stiffed; this guy was stealing from me. I had gotten buddy-buddy with some of the cooks over the time I was there, so I devised my evil plot. I made a point to watch my tables like a hawk after that, and every time this douche ordered a sandwich with no pickles, I got the cook to extra pickle that shit. Steal my tips, you get pickled.

Even though I've turned into something of a raging steamroller, i.e. a real bitch, I am still not above petty revenge. I might never be.

I like baking though. It's therapeutic. The early mornings and the solitude they offer is nice. It gives me time to myself, time to think. Time to plot. The only frustrating part is, I can't think of anything plausible. This is good thinking time, and I'm wasting it thinking about Moon Shoes and fantastical ways to blow up Link's beloved junker of a bus. Or drive it off the side of a cliff. That's just not glamorous though.

Maybe he'll show up at eight like he used to. Ruffled hair. Dead look in the eyes. And in desperate need of one of those disgusting Green Potion energy drinks.

Eight o'clock comes and goes though.

There's no point in calling him if his phone is sitting on his bed on the charger. I don't think I should expect a phone call when that's the case either. Are there even pay phones around anymore anyway? Shit, he probably doesn't even remember the bakery's phone number when he can't even call his own house.

I pick up the phone and call my brother, who's just oh so excited that I've called. "Whaaaaat?" he groans the moment the line picks up.

"What's up?"

"Woman, I am trying to sleep."

"But I'm _loneleee._"

"Where's Link?"

"I don't know," I say. "And I'm having a hard time forming evil plots this morning."

Sheik yawns loudly on the other end. "Doesn't he have a toothbrush or something at your house? You can always just put dish soap on it."

"That's recycling."

"Well, it tasted super nasty when you did it to me… Or was that actually Malon?"

"It was me," I admit.

"That's stone cold, Sis."

"Bite me."

My brother just grunts in response. Then he says, "Look, I know you're worried about him and all, but I'm sure he's fine. Maybe that old bus finally gave out or something, and now my beauty sleep has been seriously disturbed, so I'm going to attend to that."

"You're so snooty."

"_Goodbye_ Zelda."

**…**

The three girls that are sweet on Link drop in in the afternoon. While they still pick over what pastries to get, it's clear that they're disappointed that Link's not in to crack jokes with them. The little gaggle… what's their names? Hannah. Kili? And girl? Link would know. They come in a few times a week, and I still don't remember, but Link usually deals with them. I don't remember them being this picky though. I could probably waste away, my skin shrunken and leathery as if I was a redead, at the pastry case with how long these girls are taking. I might have dozed off a couple of times before the girls finally make their selections. They actually still stick around too.

They eventually leave, wishing me a good day. It's like they've suddenly regained all cognitive function without Link around. Nice kids.

As the gaggle of three girls sashay along the storefront outside, I hear the back door open up. Knowing that it's been locked all day, I barrel into the back area to greet the only other person who currently has keys. "Where in the _fuck_ have you been?" I screech. Link flinches a little as the back door swings shut. His hair looks a little greasy, and his beard is really coming in now. Overall, he seems worn out. I dunno, maybe it was because of how he normally acts like such a child, he's looked boyish all this time, but he looks older, more mature. There's a point in time when I looked at him around the Grand Illumination that he had the same look.

Or it could be just the beard.

But it's still a sad shame to see that same haggard, haunted look to him that Sheik's been sporting for a while now.

I take a quick deep breath, reminding myself not to verbally rip his head off and maim him. Be nice. Don't steamroll. "Link, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, the bus broke down, and I thought I took my phone-"

"Oh trust me, I know," I say flatly. "I found it swimming in your sheets."

"In my sheets…" He scratches at his hairline. "So you did go over to my house?"

"No, I used astral projection."

"Is that even possible?"

I roll my eyes and slap his shoulder lightly with the back of my hand. "YES, I went to your house. I dumped all your laundry off after screaming at your voicemail for a whole day.

"Now tell me where you went."

He looks away from me and down at his fidgeting hands. "I just… I just had to leave," he tells me. "I told Knil on Sunday right before I left that I was just going to go up to Death Mountain." What. "Maybe hike up the slopes or something."

Something inside me snaps – the dam on it all. Hot and scorching, it boils up, but I keep telling myself to let it simmer silently. It's a bit of a struggle to keep my voice even and low. "You told Knil where you were going?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd be back by last night, so when I realized I didn't have my phone I wasn't too worried until the bulli broke down."

Well, Sheik. Whoop. You win on that front. "You know what's wrong with it?"

He groans. "Yeaaah. It needs a new clutch. I couldn't get it into first gear or even second eventually." Ouch. "I have no idea how old the clutch in there even _is_. So… I don't know if I can say that, 'Hey, the damn thing was reliable at least!' I've only had the bus for a few years."

I rub my eyes and squeak out, "Oh damn it, Link. You didn't notice it going bad at all?"

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "It's been hard to get in gear for a while now, but I was usually able to just throw it in second and start from there."

"Where's the bus?" I sigh.

"Some guys were able to help me push it, and going downhill, I was able to put in a higher gear and just go from there until I got into town again. It's over at Barnes' place, but I don't know how long it's going to take him to get the parts for it."

"Congrats on your money pit."

"Hey, it's gotten me through some times!"

"Like the ability to camp out in it?"

I ignore his protest and hold out my arms, a gesture which Link readily accepts. He gives me a tight squeeze, and, my face still mashed to his chest, I say, "I'm glad you're alright, but I'm still pissed at you. And Farore! Are you ripe!" And scratchy. Really scratchy. Stupid beard. It grates along the top of my head. I don't know whether to tell him to go shave or just let him grow it.

He drops his arms when he says, "Weeell, I haven't showered in a few days… Are you- are you going to let me go?"

"SHHHH-SHUSH! This is the nicest I'm gonna be."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n!" he laughs a little. He lets me stay like this for a bit, clinging on like an octorok with suckers that just won't let go. Innocent bear hug or overly-friendly death trap? I can't decide, but I guess he doesn't smell all that bad. Ripe, yes, but I can smell the earth in the fibers of his shirt. The fresh mountain air still lingers on him as well, and there's something revitalizing about breathing in that scent.

"I'm still wearing your boxers by the way, and also, I did talk to Knil though."

"Huh? When?"

"Yesterday. Wanna guess what he told me?"

There's a hesitant pause, but instead of actually responding, Link goes, "Wait, you're wearing my boxers?"

"Take that!"

**…**

In a not-so secret move - because I'm looking right at him from the kitchen while drinking from _his_ little sippy cup thing - Link drags his clothes back over to my house. I'm not sure if he is trying to hide it, but he is trying to be extra quiet. He probably doesn't even realize that I'm watching him. I have to admit, it's a ballsy move. This is some serious danger zone shit. Brave man, Link Mason. Although it's been a few hours now, and I'm starting to think I'm more pissed off with Link's roommate than Link. He still hasn't shaved, but his body odor is under control again.

Oh look. His bedroom is officially down a comforter now.

I'm trying to tally up what all of Link's is actually sitting in my house right now in my mind when he wanders into the kitchen. He's got this look of a puppy that knows it's done something wrong. Oh, you're good, Mason, but not good enough. I'm not falling for that crap. I'm onto you.

"Sooo…" I drawl.

Link shrugs, and he echos back, "So?"

"How long have you been moving into my house?"

"What?"

"Dude, I have your cereal, these sippy cups have been here since what?" I shake the cup in my hand a little. "Harvest Moon? I can't remember. Then there's the video games, and that bass guitar in the spare room definitely isn't mine. My movie collection has been reproducing. I keep finding your clothes mixed in with my laundry- Oh don't try and tell me it's just stuff left behind from staying over," I spit, pointing a finger at him with the sippy cup in hand. "You just brought back all the stuff I took over to your house yesterday. At the very least, you have been strategically moving in piece by piece since the Grand Illumination or New Year's or something."

He scratches the back of his head and tries to look at anything but me. I sigh. "I'm not _really_ that mad." Kind of. Sort of. "Can't you just ever really talk to me though?"

Like a scolded child, he still won't say anything. "Link," I groan. "What's going on with your roommate?"

He shrugs. "I really don't know. It's like he's been trying to pick fights with me the past few months, or he tries to pretend I'm not really in existence. Like he'll mess with my food, eat it, whatever, or refuse to adhere to the rules we agreed to when we became housemates. He's brought some weird people over lately too. Sketchy weird." His hand drops from his head, and he crosses his arms. "You know, I'm not really surprised in retrospect that he didn't tell you where I was at."

"Yeah, that was real shitty of him," I agree, taking a sip of my drink.

"I think he's just passively trying to get me to leave for whatever reason."

"I wish you would have said something," I tell him. Link pulls himself up onto the island and kicks his feet a little, and I lean back on the counter. "Look, since you've been on this crafty crusade of yours, just get your crap out of there."

His brow wrinkles, and he takes a hard look at me. "Are you sure?"

"Just freaking talk to me, that's all I'm asking."

"And kill all the mysteries?" he jokes.

I sigh, "Link, we spend like sixty plus hours a week together. I'm pretty sure the mysteries are all dead."

"Good, because I farted on your pillow in revenge."

"You get the floor tonight."

If he didn't believe before, I made it known right quick that I was sticking to my word. Even though I know he didn't really do anything to my pillow, there's still this simmering rage building in me about the whole situation. I'm not really sure if it's directed at Link at all anymore, but I'm still taking it out on him so I do feel a little bit bad. Curled up in his blanket from home on the floor, he tells me, "Night," but I don't say anything.

The clocks tick by. Each second is made painfully aware by each click of the hands. It's not until I'm starting to think that they're going to drive me mad, that I throw my pillow on the floor. It smacks Link somewhere, because he lets out a startled "Hey!" and I crawl off my bed and lie down next to him. He doesn't do anything for a bit, so we lie surrounded by the clicking clocks, and I count each tick. Eventually I lose track, and Link kicks around his comforter and mine to pull me to him. It's strange music to hear the clocks tick-tocking and the slowing, steady beat of Link's pulse. I don't even care about the prickliness of his beard on my forehead.

"Did you call Aryll?" I ask, but he grunts, and I have to repeat myself.

He says, "Yeah."

"She said you always want to leave this time of year."

"It's just something I do." When I say his name with warning, he gives in and elaborates. "I usually just want time to myself. Get away. People… you know, they want to memorialize what happened to my parents, and I can never stand it. It wasn't a war, but we were in a car crash, and I've never been the same. I sort of feel like there's this expectation that I should be the same. I look at Aryll, and she doesn't really remember anything."

I worm an arm out and around him, saying, "You can't expect to compare yourself to Aryll."

He barks a little. Sharp and hard, it's not his usual laugh. "I do though." He adds before I can make another comment, "Which I know is stupid." He swallows and sniffs, the quick intake ruffling my hair slightly. "I kind of wish I was her. When she screamed, it was piercing."

He doesn't remember where they were exactly or where they were going, but he's fairly sure they were heading home. He sat in the back seat, Aryll next to him in. Strapped in to her booster seat, she had this little seagull plush toy that she adored to shreds in her hands. It had beady little eyes that glinted in the darkness at him. Sometimes, she'd whack him with the plush toy, and when he complained to his mother, she shushed him and then lightly chastised Aryll, who more than likely wasn't even listening. Her head lolled back onto the headrest, and she closed her eyes until Link whined to her again about his little sister.

Trees flew by in the window, and the dotted yellow line went by like a filmstrip not quite up to speed. At one point, a deer leaped out into the road, and the car jerked as it suddenly slowed. The deer passed, and so did the car. Aryll sang softly to herself, bouncing the seagull on her lap as she watched the trees go by in the window, looking to see if any more animals would make an appearance. The road began to twist and curve through the Ordonian woods. They kept on driving, until white light blinded the car.

After that, there was smoke and the blaring of a broken horn sounding through the woods. Aryll let out a screeching cry, blood creeping down the side of her face, the seagull gone from her hands. His pulse beats in my ear with wild abandon, but he doesn't say anything else except that some idiot took the hairpin turn on the back road that they were driving on too tightly and too fast, failing to keep right of center.

**…**

It costs Link almost an arm and a leg after all was said and done to get the bus back, although he was able to cut a deal on the labor costs with Barnes. If he really wanted to offset the costs, he could sell his body for science, but he doesn't seem too thrilled when I suggest it. "At least you won't have to worry about the clutch wearing out now," I say, trying to shed some light on the situation.

"Or the hoses and the-"

"Link, your bus is considered antique."

"Yeaaah," he drones.

Before I even know it, the bus is packed up and the Taste is a few days away. Aryll, now graduated and out of school for the summer, sits on the front bumper playing with the straw from her iced coffee. She rolls it between her teeth, and the straw jerks in one direction and the next until she loses it on the driveway. "Crap," she mutters looking from her cup to the straw.

"Hey Squirt," Link calls, Aryll's bags in his hands. "Last chance to back out."

"No! I wanna go!" she cries and leaps up from the bumper. She swipes her stuff from him and throws it into the back of the bus with the rest of our things and supplies. Aryll wedges the bags in place and then plants herself in the only open seat left in the back. "Well! I'm ready!" she declares, and Link shuts the door.

Link and I clamber into the front. Seeing Anju come out from next door with her tea in hand to grab the newspaper lying in her driveway, we wave at her. "Your neighbor's kind of weird," Aryll comments as she rips the lid from her cup off to finish her drink.

Settling in for the long drive, I laugh, "More clumsy than weird, I think. Poor girl could botch just about anything."

Aryll puts on headphones and just watches the scenery go by while I try to catch up on sleep. I open my eyes in time on our way out of town to see Dragmire's newly erected bulk store. My nose wrinkles a little at the sight, and I roll my head in the other direction and try once more to sleep.

Sheik calls when we're about an hour out and asks about taking temperatures. Really simple, but super, super important. My confidence in my brother takes a sudden nosedive. "Link, turn around."

"What? Why?"

"Turn around."

"What! Zelda, it's fine. I can do it!" Sheik insists.

I look to Link, and he just shrugs. Some help. "Just stick the little thermometer into a pastry and keep it under forty, and if it goes higher, throw it out and call me. Malon should be there soon." After I hang up with Sheik, I grumble a little to myself. "Nayru, I think the place might implode before we get back."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm pretty sure insurance doesn't cover blatant ignorance."

Aryll pipes up from the back to remind me that we've left behind detailed instructions. Although that doesn't mean my brother won't be calling me at all hours of the day. Malon, it's all riding on you.

Eventually I drift off to sleep again. I go in and out of napping throughout the day until we're in Castle Town. Aryll, having never been to such a large city, would have her face pressed to the glass if it weren't for all our stuff creating a barrier. Considering the location and the addition of Aryll, we booked a room at a nearby hotel for our stay with some help from my father. Upon our arrival, Aryll immediately tests each bed's springiness and durability by dropping her bags by her feet and launching herself onto each bed, jumping as she goes. "So I guess it's a family thing?" I wonder aloud, watching her bounce around.

Link goes, "What is?"

We meet up with my dad for a late dinner at a little hole in the wall place. He somehow makes it through dinner, although I'm sure the time my dad wasn't trying to learn Aryll's name, he was trying to remember Link's. Rock on, Dad.

For the duration of the event, we've rented the extra space a local bakery uses as a quiet place to do commissions or experiment with new flavors and breads. The couple who run it, Wheaton and Pita, refer to it as "the lab" for that reason, although Wheaton just jokes saying it's Pita's office. Wheaton's specialty lies in bread, so he hardly utilizes the space except to help out Pita who crafts all of the bakery's desserts. When we get in the next day to get prepped for the first day of the Taste, Aryll doesn't waste any time drooling over Pita's creations.

Pita's a girl I knew back in high school actually. A little on the short side with cropped brown hair, she's kind of mousy; I remember her mostly for being kind of spacey in class. I wouldn't say we were or are friends or anything, just acquaintances. You know, someone who you're on friendly terms with, but hardly ever talk to or even see. We hardly kept in touch in college, mostly catching up on the occasions we bumped into each other, but internet and social media has made it easy to at the very least keep up with what she's been doing.

Pita shows us to the extra space that's actually comprised of the shop next door. "We were getting so much business, we just ended up getting the bigger space next door, but we kept this place too," she says as she shows us where certain equipment is at. Wheaton helps us unload our supplies before leaving us to our own work. I tell Link that I'm taking Aryll with me to get ingredients we weren't able to bring from Kakariko while he finishes setting up.

"I don't think I've seen so many cars in such a small space before," says Aryll as we come up on a large, busy intersection on our way to the market. We mill in with the group of other people waiting to cross the street.

I snort, "You should see it during holidays. It's complete gridlock here."

Aryll sneers a little as she adjusts the shopping bag on her shoulder. "Why bother with a car then?" she wonders.

The green walk man lights up, and we all pool out into the street to cross as Aryll and I try to keep track of everything that we need to pick up. When we come up on the intersection a block over, we stop to wait to cross again. That's when I turn my head and see none other than Nabooru Venox tapping away on her phone as she waits to cross perpendicular to Aryll and me. I try to avert my eyes from her but am too late. She sees me and _knows_ I've seen her. That slippery, sly smile of hers stretches on her face. "Oh, Zelda Nohansen," she purrs. "How _have_ you been?"

Stiff, I reply, "I'm fine, Nabooru." Good Din, is it possible she's gotten even tanner?

"Did your little business go south finally?" she taunts.

"Actually," I interject before she can slap me with an insult, her mouth snapping shut, "We're here for the Taste. Everything's peachy."

She frowns, clearly displeased by this news. "Oh," she says shortly. "Well, good for you." She nods her head at Aryll next to me. "New employee too?"

"In a way, yes. She's just helping out for the Taste."

Nabooru grunts, and then she cranes her neck to see over the small crowd gathered at the corner. This light isn't changing anytime soon, and now that she can't attack me for failing my business, she's ready to go. She readjusts her shirt and glances at me. "I didn't take you one for tattoos," she says.

"Hey, go crazy. Yolo."

She's not amused. "Odd choice and location; any particular reason?"

"Nope."

She hmphs and turns back ahead. We stand in silence, peaceful, wonderful silence until the light changes. Nabooru Venox turns her head to give me one last look, and she tells me, "Well, maybe I'll get to try one of your little creations finally." She flashes me a devilish smile and steps into the crosswalk.

"Who was that?" Aryll asks as we watch Nabooru slink across the street.

I grimace and say, "She's a lawyer at a company I used to work for."

"Seriously?" Then with a pause between each word for emphasis, Aryll makes my day when she says, "What. A. Bitch."

* * *

><p>For those of you that don't read <em>Coin-Op<em>, I packed up my life at the end of May into a 5x8 trailer and moved back home, 1000 miles away. But oh man, I'm seriously loving my new job. The people are fantastic, and the kitchen staff is hilarious. What sucks about the kitchen though is that the other cooks almost all speak Spanish natively. Being Swiss, I learned German. I don't speak a lick of Spanish, and when my manager asked me if I do, he was like, "Oh that's cool. I didn't either until I started working here." Haha. So maybe I'll learn a new language. But I'm all settled, and I still can't find any of my outlines for _ZC_ or _Coin-Op_, which makes me a sad panda.

So, it's July in the story, and July in real life. Nice, nice. The Taste and Ribfest (which Sheik mentioned a couple chapters back) are actual events if you guys weren't away. We actually just had Ribfest (I live right by where they hold Ribfest, go a free firework show; try and charge me now!) and the Taste of Chicago, although I am terribly disappointed that the Taste was cut in half this year. I didn't get to go! I have been eating Portillo's and Nicky's out the wazzoo though. I've missed these hot dogs. I have yet to get a deep dish. But soon... yes. Soooon...

I'm hoping to crank out more real soon. I have all this free time to write right now! Iz nize.

Aaaand we're still celebrating the Blackhawks win. Did anybody hear about Beiber's faux pas? The amount of rage about it was pretty incredible. Don't step on the Indian head!

Also, I can't believe where this story is at with the number of reviews and etc. Craaaazy. So do me a flavor? Peas? Hit 100 for me.

;D


	16. The Fright and the Warning

Zombie Cake

16.0

The Fright and the Warning

Aryll wrinkles her nose after finally flopping into her bed. "You guys won't do anything gross, right?" she jokingly asks.

Link's pretty much dead to begin with, the occasional sniff and jump the only disturbance from his deep dream world. I push him over on the bed to make room for myself, his only help being a sleepy groan, saying, "Don't worry, we'll be extra loud and sloppy."

"Perfect" is the last thing she says before shutting off the light and leaving me alone in the dark. Next to me, Link falls deeper into sleep, his breathing slow and steady. Every now and then he jumps a little in his sleep. The air conditioner kicks on, rattling a bit and groaning from the corner of the room. I try to close my eyes, get some sleep. I'm tired enough as it is, but something about sleep eludes me, and it's not even because Link's snoring.

Or maybe it's the absence of his light snoring tonight that bothers me.

Eventually, I can hear Aryll tossing around on her bed. Suddenly I feel a little sympathy for Link, who had to share a bed with her on occasions as children. The poor bastard was probably beaten throughout the night by her. She kicks at the covers with little ceremony, ripping the sheets from their crisply tucked places.

Even the elephants that have the room above us aren't really the problem for my insomnia. Although I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a cheap motel. I push my pillow over my eyes and ears, and I keep praying that they just have heavy, rhythmic footfalls.

Somewhere in the haziness of no sleep, the thumping from above fades out. Shapes in the dark begin to shift. They morph and whip past me in a textured mess. Music reaches my ears, and I reach out to find Link. Shaggy hair and beard and all, he's propped up next to me. Try as I might to grab his attention, it remains focused on the curious shapes shifting in the dark. I give up just as a furry mass flies by my vision. Link whacks it away. "Stop it," he grumbles, and then he turns back to the window. The soft toy smacks him again, and Link sneers. "Aryll!"

Aryll, sitting on my right, giggles. She looks every bit as old as I know her to be, but she's strapped into her booster seat and turning over the stuffed animal in her hands. A seagull. She waits for Link to turn his attention away from her again before smacking him upside the head with the seagull. "Mam!"

Weary, her voice doesn't exactly carry sternness when she says from the front seat, "Aryll, leave Link alone."

This charade continues until Aryll grows bored, snuggling into her booster seat. She yawns widely, and then she starts tossing the seagull up in the air. "Aryll, stop throwing your toy or I'll take it." She pouts but relents. The trees continue to go by, and Link rests his head against the window as Aryll starts to hum to herself. It's peaceful almost. The hum of the engine and the whistle of wind are soothing to the ears until Link's mother screeches in warning. A deer, at first frozen in the headlights, sprints across the road as everyone in the car is thrown forward from the sudden break in speed.

The brief interlude between the impact and awareness is dizzying. My vision is hazy, sluggish and blurred. Everything around me feels unreal as my eyes loll around in my skull. This moment in time… it's like it's been put on pause. No sound. No movement. And then someone clicks play. Aryll lets out a bloodcurdling scream that mixes in harmony with the droning wail of a car horn. It rattles my bones and chills my skin. Ruby stains her tanned face, and her seagull is on the floor. Her hands reach out, still constrained to her seat, for the motionless figures in the front seats.

Link is slumped forward.

My hands reach out for him, but I can't find my voice. Fingers latch into fabric, and I start to shake him. He jerks, jostling us both as a wind of air jets into his lungs. "Goddesses, Zelda!" he gasps, and he starts to try and untangle himself from the sheets and me. I let him go and curl into myself to stop the shaking. He takes a minute or so to let his breathing calm, but I can't stop my own racing heartbeat and shallow breaths. In the din of the room, I can still see him run his hands over his face. "Farore, what's your deal?" he mumbles.

I sniffle.

Hearing me, he groans and then rolls on top of me. I wiggle some underneath him to free an arm. He asks me, "What's wrong?" as I cling to him.

Lights blinding my vision. A horn. A scream?

I can't say. I don't remember.

But still, I sob into Link's t-shirt. I'm probably getting it all gross with snot. He doesn't push it though and just lets me dirty his shirt. His weight is crushing, but I don't mind. He nuzzles my hair a little and promises that "It'll be okay."

**…**

The day has gotten hot under the bright sun, but every now and then a cool breeze whips through, rustling table cloths, dresses and hair. Aryll yawns again from the afternoon heat before passing out another cupcake. "Do you think my dumdum brother got lost?" she asks as she hands back a woman her change.

"That's the last thing we need."

He's never mentioned my little episode yet, and I'm kind of thankful for that. I don't even know why I started crying. I just did. It was weird. It was… it just wasn't me. Or hell. Maybe Link plain forgot about it. I wouldn't put it past him. But that doesn't seem quite right either. He seems to be a little gentler when dealing with me ever since, even when I've damn near bit his head off. It's like nothing fazes him, though I guess he could just be writing it off since we're all stressed to the max dealing with the Taste.

I sent him back to Pita's to do restock. His idea for lemonade and limeade cake has surprisingly been very much well received. Thankfully, little Aryll seems to have gotten over her frazzled nerves after a day and a half of dealing with some of the rudest, entitled people Hyrule has to offer. "Oh my gods, was she serious?" she sputters when we finally send one difficult woman off. "What does she want me to do? Conjure cake up with my magic powers? Come on! Magic doesn't exist."

Magic doesn't exist. Right.

Right?

The tingling sensation in my hand begs to differ. I ignore it though and plaster on a smile for the people flocking about. Sweaty and tired, Aryll pops down on a cooler we've left at the back of the tent. Her bangs puff up as she attempts to blow them out of her face without much success. Sweat has left her hair wet and heavy. She mumbles about needing more deodorant as I hand off another half dozen cupcakes. "Aryll, c'mon."

"At least it's not as humid here as it is in Ordon," she yawns, stretching up from the cooler. She sighs. "Kakariko's pretty nice though. It's just like sitting in an oven. It's so dry."

"I wonder where Link's at…" I mumble looking at the growing sparseness of our display. We're officially out of pink lemonade with lemon frosting. The raspberry one is almost out.

Aryll says, "I hope he at least brought us something to eat."

It feels like an eternity has passed over and then some by the time Aryll feels her phone vibrate. Both of us are starving at this point, the afternoon sun high in the sky. Lunch is a much needed reprieve, so we both send silent prayers that Link has something for us to eat. The other stands are starting to be drool worthy, and Aryll has already eaten the last two blueberry buttercream lemonade cupcakes.

She whips out her phone in a flash. "Oh thank Farore! I thought we were gonna die!" She mumbles quickly into her phone. "All right! I'm coming!

"He says he got us some subs!" she exclaims.

My stomach gurgles. Oh goddesses, that sounds good.

"I'm going to go help unload," Aryll tells me. "I'll be back!"

Link shows up at the stand first, carrying a load of cupcakes with him. "I just got you ham and Swiss, is that fine?"

"Link, I could eat anything at this point." I start to ask him where else he's been for so long, when I see that his attention is elsewhere. His eyes are focused just over my shoulder and I whip around to try and see what's up.

Before I can say anything, my eyes darting around, Link asks, "Hey, isn't that that corporate lawyer that stopped in the bakery a while back? Don't you know her?"

And then I see her. Oh godsdamn fuck fucking shit fuck. I see her. I _see_ her. Suddenly, I feel super conscious of my sweat stains, limp and messy hair and dirty sneakers. Nabooru looks as presentable as ever. Her hair is pulled back into an elegant bun. There's no sign of a sweat or hard day's work in her clothes; they're pressed clean and crisp, every bit the professional that she is. I start to go into a full on panic mode, gearing up for a visit from the venomous Gerudo. If I could shrink out of sight, I would, but Link's too stupid to follow the lead, and she'll surely recognize him. It'd be just my luck.

"You okay, Zellie?"

"I'm going to throw up."

"Yeah, we should have had lunch a while back," he says. Link, you fucking idiot. He holds out the little plastic bag with my lunch inside. "Here, eat it before it's not cold anymore." GoddamnitLinkyouareafreakingidiot.

I don't really think I'm hungry any more.

Especially when I feel my stomach drop, because there's my old big boss, who I just raged quit on. Not the boss guy I reported to, not the boss guy that oversaw my department, not even the guy that trashed our crappy copier when it jammed on him one too many times. Nope, this the head honcho, the guy that ran the whole shebang, and oh goddesses what did I say when I quit did I insult anybody no just the copier and my supervisor did I get full use out of that stupid flex time how much toner does one copier need and Nayru I still don't know who killed my plant-

I take the bag from Link anyway.

"Zellie?"

"Where's Aryll?" Oh goddesses, she's looking at me. SHE'S FUCKING LOOKING AT ME.

What the hell is wrong me? I don't turn into a spineless bari… Hm. I suppose that wouldn't be a bad choise. Bari could potentially electrocute-

"Zellie, you sure you're okay?"

I plaster on that retail smile for Link and promise him, "I'm fine." I am so not. It's hot. It's so hot. It's too hot. And I'm a hot mess.

Taking my lunch, I shuffle off to let Link deal with the people. Hopefully, I'll be out of sight and out of mind. But she already saw me. Who am I kidding? Nayru, what am I doing? Flopping onto the cooler Aryll had sat on before, I dig into my sandwich sub in the far just outside the cover of the stand's tent, trying to be the happy clam that I should be. It's hard to think about anything else though, when there's a throbbing pain in my hand.

It's agonizing, the period of time that lapses, until Link calls back to me, "Hey uh, Zel."

I turn my head, and there they are. The two Gerudos' eyes gloss over our goods, and I swipe the crumbs from my sub off my apron and approach. My stomach churns, and for that moment, I really regret eating something. Conscious about the mark on my hand, I grab a pair of gloves and slip them on.

"Zeldaaa!" Nabooru practically sings. "After running into you the other day, I just had to make sure to come try out your stuff."

I nod and shift my attention to the overbearing man in front of me. He stands a good head and a half taller than me. Dressed in a fine tailored suit, jacket and all, he appears as comfortable as can be despite the overbearing summer heat. His bright red hair shines under the sunlight. "How have you been, Mr. Dragmire?"

"Very well. Nabooru told me you took up baking after leaving the company."

"What's better than feeding cake to the starving?" I deadpan almost automatically. Nabooru's mouth thins out, but Ganondorf Dragmire's lips quirks up on one side.

"I would say it's a real shame for you to have left, but you seem to be doing well for yourself."

My eyes dart between the two Gerudo. Was that a compliment? Bah. I glance over at Link, but he's currently engaged in conversation with another man with rosy cheeks and a preference for green shirts. They can bond over their stupid green shirts. What's with the red jeans anyway? Either way, Link has left me to deal with my two associates alone.

Nabooru quickly picks out a half dozen different cupcakes to try, and Dragmire politely picks one out. The man Link was speaking to has wander off, a weird spring in his step. I box up the cupcakes and hand them off so Link can cash them out and I can finish my sub sandwich. It doesn't register in my mind right away when I see him in my peripheral take their money in his left hand. I'm not the only one looking when he gives the Gerudo their change.

My former boss and coworker pull their eyes away from my clueless employee to give me passing goodbyes. I don't move until they've disappeared once again the ever changing crowd.

"What's wrong?"

"They saw the mark."

"So?"

"You don't think it's strange to have a mark like that on the back of your hand?" I snap, ripping off the gloves. They peel away as if stuck to my skin like glue from the heat and sweat.

Link just shrugs, much to my frustration. "There's nothing we can do now, so why worry about it?"

With a sigh, I admit, "I don't know. I just have a really bad feeling is all." I plop back down on the cooler and try to finish my sandwich when Aryll finally reappears with another load and Link's keys.

She holds out his keys for Link to take while still trying to hold onto the box of stock. "I was so starved," she exclaims. "I couldn't wait to- what?

"_What_?"

Link and I just shake our heads, my hand burning.

**…**

On the last day of the Taste, the three of us are completely wiped out. Our feet hurt before we even get up. The mattress is too soft, and my back has a persistent dull ache. My muscles are all stiff as well. Aryll, unused to the strange hours that Link and I pull off without a hitch, is constantly trying to stifle her yawns.

Aryll and I leave Link to set up after we all swing for a cheap breakfast, and I decide to take her through a detour in downtown Castle Town. "Visiting is nice and all, but I don't think I could live in a place like this," she tells me, gawking at the absurd amount of people in the street just after sunrise. "The buildings here are really funky."

"I'll take you under a building."

"What? What d'ya mean 'under'?"

We drive a few blocks over to where the street slopes down. Above the two tunnels for traffic stands a large stone building connected to two other buildings on blocks to both sides of the street. I tell Aryll as the bus is suddenly shrouded under the building's shadows, "There's another one that you can do this at too. The post office is built over Third Street."

"That's insane!"

And poof! Just like that, the early sunlight is switched back on, and the bus comes out from under the tall structure.

"So what building was that?"

"The Stock Exchange," I say. "That building to the right before we went under is actually a train station. The trains there take you out to the suburbs on the South Side. About five blocks east is the main Lanayru Station. You go there to take trains to the West, North and East sides."

As a child, I have vivid memories of Lanayru Station. Sometimes, my father would allow me to come to work with him. I'd complain about having to get up so early, but I would end up sleeping on the train until he woke me at the station. We'd walk through blistering heat, through rain and biting snow to the CT Stock Exchange building. Halfway there, he'd stop off and buy me a donut or two from a local shop as breakfast.

Skirts. I always had to wear skirts or a dress whenever he'd take me. Jeans were not allowed. It was always my biggest gripe about getting to go to work with him. I didn't own any pants that _weren't_ jeans, and dear Din, it was the end of the world if I had to dress like a proper young lady should. Well, actually I did have a pair of those stupid track pants that didn't fit me right and made that annoying _swish-swish_ sound every time I moved. How in the world were those even fashionable? Dresses and skirts were a more welcome idea than those stupid things.

My father trades stocks for a living still. He did other things before it, mainly taxes, but the only thing he truly liked was stock trading for whatever reason. I never understood what it was that was going on; I was often bored watching my father and his coworkers stare at computer screens for hours on end. It was exciting to go downtown and all, but the novelty wore off quickly. I'd spend the mornings doodling on the discarded papers. Trashcans were essentially nonexistent on the floor. The traders and clerks run through so many slips of paper so fast, they were just discarded onto the floor. By the end of the day, I'd make paper piles to wade through like autumn leaves, much to my dad's displeasure. "Leave it alone, so they can sweep it up," he'd say. He'd take me to an upper floor overlooking the trading floor to see the sweepers come through and push the mass of papers off for disposal. I'm sure tree hugging hippies would have heart attacks at all that paper.

One time, I spent two hours collecting time stamps for each minute and taped it up on a set of cabinets in my dad's corner until he had had enough of my shenanigans. He told me to settle down and to keep out of the way of the clerks and to stop wasting tape and paper. It seemed a little hypocritical when I looked out on the sea of papers.

The position of clerk is where everybody starts out as. You're essentially the stock trading bitch. I'd watch as the clerks would rush to our corner of the floor and off to another and the off into the mass of other frenzied clerks and traders. There was never an end. Never a moment's rest. Even during lunch.

By the time trading closed, I was always very ready to go home, and I'd take a nice nap on the train back home.

Honestly, I'm ready to go home. I think Link and Aryll would be quick to agree to that sentiment as well. I'm ready to go back to where I can hear Anju's cucco clucking up a raging storm any time Link sets foot out in the backyard where they can see him. I'm ready to go back to the overly chatty regulars. The soft sounds of music in the middle of the night whenever Link can't sleep. The dry air of Death Mountain. To sippy cups and mugs with bad puns. Just one more day to trudge through. One more night of hearing anybody's and everybody's business through thin hotel walls.

It's almost a blessing.

Aryll and I finish up the last of the morning preparations, and we load up the bus with the fresh stock of cupcakes. She stretches out, joints cracking and another yawn stretching her jaw. "I couldn't do this every day."

"You get used to it. Look at Link."

"That's true," she mumbles. "Grandma used to throw the biggest fits at him, because he couldn't get up before noon."

"You can take him back and show off his new skill to her. I could use the vacation."

Aryll laughs at this. "You can keep him."

We make it back to the Taste and start to unload. Link sets it all up while Aryll and I make the trips out to the bus until we have everything. The morning starts out slow, but by noontime, the park where the Taste is being held is slammed with people. And little by little, the cupcakes disappear. Aryll and I watch the stand once again while Link goes to get the second batch ready.

Lunch comes late again in the afternoon. Both of our stomachs gurgling in protest and Link still absent, I send Aryll out on a mission to pick out something good from the stands for us to chow down on. She comes back with probably the strangest concoction I've ever seen, which I promptly force Link to try upon his return.

He looks at it skeptically. "What is that supposed to be again?" It's pumpkin soup. Not just any pumpkin soup. This has basil leaves in it, diced cloves of garlic, goat cheese - YES goat cheese – with what I'm pretty sure is slices of salmon. Talk about fucking funky. It's surprisingly creamy. I don't think I mind it. Link's a little green simply looking at it though.

Aryll didn't give a shit either way, and completely downed her bowl in a matter of minutes. She scans the stands after throwing out her trash. "I wonder who else has dessert."

Once the day starts to draw to a close, I leave behind Link and Aryll to try and scout another snack. Eventually, I come upon another bakery selling small tarts filled with Hyoi pears from the Great Sea Republic. I snag a few of those to take back to Link and Aryll and wolfishly start on my own. I've probably bitten off more than I could chew, crumbs from the crust spilling from my lips, and the feeling that I just _know_ I've got some of the filling smeared on my cheek when I almost walk straight into Nabooru.

She wrinkles her nose a little and her lips essentially disappear when takes a good look at me and my filling smeared face. I make the best impressions, what can I say? My mother taught me better manners than this, I know, but I can't help the little bit of righteousness I feel when I have part of my tart still spilling out of my mouth as I say, "Hey."

There are no words in the Hylian language to adequately express the sheer amount of disgust Nabooru lets show at my greeting. Shit, I don't even think she could describe it, and it's on her face.

She glances at all the people around us with sly eyes. "Where are your little cohorts?" she sniffs with suspicion.

"Watching the stand, duh."

Deadpan eyes slide back to me. She huffs. "Look, Nohansen," she says, still watching the crowd around us, "we're not friends."

"Yeah, I kind of got that."

"Shut up!" she snaps. "I'm being serious."

"Yeah, so am I," I say, stuffing another good chunk of the tart into my mouth, just for the sake of grossing her out. Petty, I know, but it's what I do best.

"That kid-"

"Link?"

"Will you stop it?!"

I shrug.

She sighs and taps a finger on her forehead. "I am _trying_ to do you a favor, despite having better judgment as you're proving." This gets me interested. Since when in the history of ever has Nabooru not tried to go out of her way to undercut me? Hm…

"You," I say, emphasizing by pointing at her with my tart-laden hand's sticky index finger, "want to help me? What's with the change of heart?"

"This isn't about me, Nohansen. This is about all of us."

"You've always struck me as the type that only really cares about your own interests. What's in it for you?"

"The same as everyone else," she snips, clearly on the verge to rip my throat out in impatience. "That kid's got the same mark as you."

"Yeah, getting matching tattoos wasn't exactly my best idea," I ramble. "I guess I'm stuck with him forever or something now."

At this, Nabooru finally loses it. Must be a record. She smacks the tart I was eating right out of my hand, and I watch as it slaps onto the asphalt next to my feet. It was a really good tart, but totally worth it, I think. I was able to eat a good portion of it anyway.

"Zelda," she levels. "Really. I need you to listen to me. I know that shit on your hand isn't a tattoo, so don't try and feed me that crap." I may have underestimated my opponent. "He doesn't know you have it, but he sure as hell knows the kid's got it.

"All these new stores are just excuses to try and dig it up."

"Dig what up?"

If Nabooru could shoot lasers out of her eyes, she'd have me obliterated. "I can't say it aloud, not here." I shrug again. "I'm trying to tell you to watch your back, Zelda. All those things we can't talk about, it'll come back to bite you in the ass. He will stop at nothing to find it, but the last thing he expected to find it would be in a cantankerous baker and her halfwit companion."

"Wait, who?"

Another frustrated sigh. "You _know_ who," she says tiredly, and then she turns to leave me. She stops short though and looks back at me. "I'm really serious, Zelda. The kid's not safe so long as he has that mark. Neither are you."

Then she's gone, leaving me standing in the middle of a crowd, and one tart less to boot. I glance around, but nobody seems to have taken notice of us or our brief conversation. As much as I'd like to chock Nabooru's warning up as one of her usual shenanigans and cutthroat bitchery, there's a stinging in my hand that warns me otherwise.

Well fuck, Link.

* * *

><p>No, I haven't given up. I do want thank you guys for the what are we at? 115 reviews? That's amazing. Thank you for sticking with me; I do want to finish this story. I freaking WANT to see the ending of the story realized. I've been looking toward that point so much. I've already put in a few hints here and there for you guys, especially in the last chapter.<p>

It's not like I've neglected writing though. I've been writing, quite a lot, just not really anything that I actually _want_ to. It's been butt. I spent the better part of August and September making headway on a novel I started on about a year ago; it's a story I've been trying to write for years, so I'm pretty excited about it. It's been sitting at the halfway point since, all lonely. So it feels so good to have finished this chapter, and have been able to work on something that I like, because let me tell you, writing up marketing plans for things like water purification units is not the exciting field I thought it would be. It was really either do this and grill burgers or try and keep myself going as a research assistant, which is not financially possible. Woo.

That aside, it's going to be rough here on out. I need to start getting prepped for my CPA exam, and I am scared out of my mind. Only something like 47% of the people that took the exam last year passed. Makes me sick. The bright side is that, once you pass, you never have to retake the CPA exam.

askdfalelaksfdoikc

I just want to write things I like at this point. I don't want to be a grown up.

D;


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